The Serpent
by waterflower20
Summary: 'The Serpent', a famous thief, has been a pain in the back for Head Auror Harry Potter for almost two years. Determined to see him behind bars, he asks his best Auror, Hermione Granger, to take him down. Problem is, the charismatic thief, proves to be Miss Granger's match. In more ways than one…
1. Prologue

**Title:** **The Serpent**  
><strong>Prompt(s): <strong>#27 - Hermione's the best Auror under Harry's orders. And that is just a good thing, because she's been sent to arrest a famous thief, known as The Serpent. However, each time she finds herself with him, she cannot stop herself from lusting after the man, who has entrancing grey eyes under his mask...Yes! I had to place this somewhere, the good cop falling in love with the bad guy (and vice versa, even though the bad guy wouldn't admit it of course ;)). Smutty, please!

#80 **-** **(IMAGE PROMPT (NOT SAFE FOR WORK)**: Hermione accidentally stumbles across Draco Malfoy, her Co-Worker/Boss, and Astoria Greengrass in his office in this way, and now she can't get the thought of him out of her head. She wants what Astoria had!  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong><strong>Warnings: <strong>**Voyeurism of a sex act, explicit profanity, implied masturbation, angst, Dominant!Draco (Dom/sub dynamics), dream walking, thievery, blood purity prejudice, jealous!Draco, angry kissing, explicit het sex (a little rough), verystubborn!Hermione  
><strong>Summary: '<strong>The Serpent', a famous thief, has been a pain in the arse for Head Auror Harry Potter for almost two years. Determined to see him behind bars, he asks his best Auror, Hermione Granger, to take him down. Problem is, the charismatic thief, proves to be Miss Granger's match. In more ways than one…

**Author's Notes: ****Thanks to my wonderful beta ******Fluffpanda****** for helping me make this story worth reading.**

**And a huge, heartfelt ******thank you ******goes to ******RZZMG – ******you know who she is – for taking the time, despite her busy life, to act as a second beta and fill some plot holes I missed in my hurry to finish this story in time for the Dramione Love's fest in livejournal. She's amazing, and I'm honoured to say she made this story infinitely better.**

*********As you may have noticed ******The Serpent ******was taken down for violating the rule about keeping summaries G rated. Now, some of you might argue about the site having rules, and we have to abide by them, and me bitching about this is hypocritical or something, but let me explain something. Of course I don't expect the administrators to notify us before deleting stories when they made the rules clear; but when I first tried to post another story some years ago, specifically ******Fate is such a b...witch******, I couldn't. Because the original title was ******Fate is such a bitch******. Then, a notification popped up stating that the title for the story was violating the above rule... So when I typed the summary for ******The Serpent****** and no such notification appeared, I thought I was clear; not because I got away with violating the rules, but because when in ******the exact same situation years ago, ******I was immediately notified. Now, I've lost over fifty reviews, over a hundred alerts and you guys have to wait much longer for the next chapters. But fear not; all previously posted chapters – which ****_will _****be post here again when I manage – are published in my livejournal, including the chapter that was supposed to be up yesterday. Until I sort out some issues in my real life, this is the best I can do. Sorry, and hope to hear from you... again.*****

**Disclaimer:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended. 

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Prologue<em>**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

The bulletin board, filled to the brim with articles, hand-drawn sketches, and reports about the infamous thief, only known as 'The Serpent'—thanks to the tiny silver snake with emerald eyes he always left in the scenes of his crimes—glared back at him as he grudgingly pinned another useless report on it.

Over a year ago, the newly appointed Head Auror, Harry Potter, had heard news of a peculiar robbery: the Crabbe family, well known for their involvement in both wizarding wars, and their bigoted ways, had reported someone had broken into their family house, and stolen a priceless painting.

Harry hadn't missed the irony when Luna Lovegood reported in _The Quibbler_ that the painting in question had been a lost masterpiece of a well-known Muggle artist. Evidently the Crabbes' hatred for Muggles didn't apply to their pricey art.

Harry had the tact not to point such a thing out, although the same couldn't be said about his partner, Ron Weasley, who took great delight in taking down the Crabbe's testimony for the case while making subtly snide remarks about it.

The Crabbe family had been completely unaware of their loss until a house elf meekly mentioned it during luncheon one day.

The only queerness of the situation had been the tiny, silver snake placed in the painting's spot. Antony Goldstein, a resident Charms expert, had been almost apoplectic at the brilliance and intricacy of the spells cast around the spot the painting used to hang. The robbery could have happened weeks ago, and the Crabbes wouldn't have known.

Although a weird case, no one thought much of it, really. So a family had been robbed. That was an everyday occurrence in some neighbourhoods, and worthy of little note.

A month later, however, a frantic Mrs. Goyle had arrived at the Ministry waving a tiny silver figurine around and yelling about a set of antique pearl jewellery being stolen. The woman had been positively mad.

The figurine in her hand, which of course had been a silver snake, had tipped-off Harry as to what he'd probably find at the Goyle residence. When Goldstein confirmed that the charms around Mrs. Goyle's jewellery box were identical to the Crabbe case, Harry then knew they were dealing with some kind of serial thief.

Despite his suspicions, Harry _didn't_ allow the information to become public, as he maintained some small hope that the perpetrator was not the same.

Three weeks later, a seething Daphne Greengrass stormed into Harry's office, and practically threw a silver snake figurine at him, screaming about a priceless wedding tiara her mother had owned, and how it used to belong to the Queen of Spain.

Left with no choice, Harry finally allowed the story to go public, but he ordered his Aurors to keep mum about the specifics, only offering the most necessary information to the press. If their culprit caught wind that they were onto him, he might flee the country.

Not that they actually had anything to go on, with the exception of the silver snake figurines... and the testimony of a half drunk maid who swore that their thief had been handsomer than Adonis, himself.

Another six families came forward over the next few weeks. They'd all had Muggle treasures stolen from them.

Soon after, Ron declared that their miscreant had finally reached the status of a criminal legend: the fellow had had an honest-to-God fan club dubbed in his honour. Women actually gathered for meet-and-greets, like some kind of book club, to worship the thief (mostly because some inebriated lunatic had claimed he had been charming and good looking, Harry was sure).

After learning that, Harry had put his best Aurors on the job, but to date, they still had no concrete leads. Instead, his men faced continual public ridicule for their failure to make an arrest in the case, and the Minister had finally come down on Harry's head as a result of pure-blood families, all in fear for their property, pressuring the Ministry for results.

The papers were having a field day at their expense, too, calling the department useless and praising 'The Serpent' for constantly outsmarting them,

"I hate Skeeter!" Harry grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes with his fingertips, as he sat on his cushy leather chair behind his desk.

"You and everyone else," replied a familiar (amused) voice from his door.

Harry whirled about in his chair, wand raised and a defensive spell on the tip of his tongue, but his hand fell when he saw the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, standing there, dark brows arched and lips quirked in a grin.

Harry glared at his old friend. "Don't you ever knock?"

"The door was open." Kingsley answered. Without waiting for an invitation (he was after all Harry's employer, after all), he walked in and shut the door. A casual flick of his wand had the room sound-proofed.

Harry's brows shoot up with curiosity. "What can I do for you, Minister?" Remembering his manners, he motioned toward a leather guest chair in front of his desk. "Take a seat."

Kingsley sat heavily, and snapped his fingers. A tray with two crystal tumblers and a carafe filled with a dark, amber liquid materialized on Harry's desk.

"Firewhisky? It's barely noon."

"Well, I need it. Feel free to pass – although I should warn you, its Ogden's finest, and a personal gift from the Russian Minister for Magic."

"What the hell," Harry muttered, and helped himself to two fingers-worth of drink. He did enjoy a good whisky once in a while, and Ogden's was a rarity for him.

After taking a hefty sip, Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at the brooding Minister. "What gives, Kings? Why all the secrecy?"

"Any new leads on 'The Serpent'?"

Arching a brow at the man's dodgy behaviour, Harry shook his head. "Nothing useful. The Parkinsons' maid, who by the way is a member of 'The Serpent's' fan club, was upset at her mistress, and thought it an appropriate retribution to steal Pansy's engagement ring and blame it on our guy. Draco Malfoy convinced Pansy to drop the charges. The maid will still serve community service for a few weeks, though."

The Minister cursed. "Rotten luck. I was really hoping we'd catch him this time."

Harry shrugged, his meaning apologetic.

"Skeeter's giving you trouble?"

"Always," Harry confirmed. "But she does have a point, as much as it pains me to admit it. It's been almost eighteen months, and we've still got zero leads on him… and absolutely no plan as to how to catch him. Bluntly, we know nothing about him, except his calling card – the silver snake figurines. The best lead we've got is that absolutely atrocious portrait Mrs. Avery drew. You know which one I mean – the one where 'The Serpent' appears completely nude."

Kingsley cringed and held up a hand for Harry to stop. "Just her name would have sufficed. I get your point."

Everyone in the British Ministry knew Mrs. Avery was an exceptionally vocal fan of 'The Serpent', beginning the night he'd stolen her eighteenth-century French Louis-styled earrings. Smitten as she was with her 'dark, mysterious hero', she spent an excessive amount time stalking Harry's department in the hope of seeing him again. And of course, in painting fanciful, erotic representations of her thief, whom she'd romanticised in her head. Her bizarre obsessiveness for a man she'd never actually _seen_ was definitely disturbing, but Harry was a professional and he knew how to handle her particular brand of lunacy with some measure of respect: he always waited for the elderly (possibly even senile) witch to leave the premises before breaking down into gales of laughter.

"No matter how little regard I have for the likes of The Serpent," he choked on a laugh, "I doubt he'd ever be so desperate as to proposition Mrs. Avery."

Sharing a laugh lightened the mood, but was not enough to stop Kingsley's mood from plummeting again.

"Say… Isn't Granger coming back soon?"

"Two weeks from tomorrow." Harry answered automatically, hating the blush that started on the tips of his ears. "Thanks to a screw up from one of her team members, she had to switch port keys for a later date."

"The mission?"

Harry smirked. "Success. What did you expect from Hermione?"

"Indeed. And she's still planning on transferring out of the Aurors and into the Wizengamot's Administration Services when she returns?"

"As far as I know. We haven't really spoken since before she left for her mission, but last time we did, she confirmed this was her last mission."

The Minister was pensive for a minute, before looking up with hard eyes.

"Think you can convince her to take a last one?"

Harry remained silent, expectant.

Kingsley stood up, and started pacing.

"Eighteen months, Harry. That twat is running free for one and a half year already, and we are no closer to catching him than we were eighteen months ago. It makes the department look bad; we need to catch him, fast."

"And you think Hermione is the best for the job?"

"Don't you? You've told me time and again, that she's your best Auror. Have you been lying? Exaggerating maybe?"

"No. Not only is she fucking brilliant, she's a darn fine duellist and quick on her feet. She can find solutions to seemingly unsolvable problems. But-"

"But _nothing_. She's the best, and we _need_ the best. And from what I can remember, Granger always had a penchant for puzzles. The Serpent is one, and I need you to convince her to solve it. ASAP."

They locked eyes, both evaluating each other. In the end it was Harry who broke their staring contest.

He knew Kingsley had spoken the truth.

He was just not looking forward to telling Hermione.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But you'll have to tell her, she'll have to work with Malfoy!"


	2. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **This fic was my submission for the Dramione Love fest, so it is complete. Traditionally, when I post a fest/challenge piece, I upload a chapter every week, but seeing as **The Serpent **is pretty long – over 30 chapters!- I doubt you'd have the patience for it! So I'll be updating twice or thrice a week depending on each chapter's length.

Next update will be Saturday.

_**The Serpent**_

_**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**_  
><em><strong>Chapter 1<strong>_  
><em><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>_

"You'd better tell me Kingsley was joking, Harry," Hermione demanded, eyes hard and tone icy enough to freeze glaciers.

Harry mentally chided himself for withering under her glare. After nearly two decades of friendship, he still hadn't developed immunity to Hermione's patented 'Scowl-of-Death', especially as it meant terrible things for the recipient.

Prior to this afternoon, he had wisely avoided situations that put him on the receiving end of Hermione's ire. Now, he was bull's-eye in her sights. Dead centre and not liking it. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and reminded himself again that she loved him and wouldn't murder him. After all, she had spent years (from the day they'd met, really) and immeasurable joules of energy keeping him alive. Practical to the bone, she would not let that effort and time go to waste.

He hoped.

No, everything would be fine. Aside from their friendship, he was her superior officer to boot. Above all else, Hermione valued her reputation on the job – too much to murder him in cold-blood.

Maybe he should reinforce his office and home wards, just in case.

Damn Shacklebolt and his 'unexpected, and highly important meeting' that supposedly required his presence! The bloody coward was simply terrified to be in the same room as Hermione after sending her his decree regarding the case of 'The Serpent' via interdepartmental note.

"Now, 'Mione," Harry cajoled, "there's no need to threaten‒"

She stood up straighter and placed her hands on her hips.

He gulped. Merlin, it'd be a miracle if he walked out of this with his balls still attached to his person!

"Save it, Potter," she spat.

Yeah, she was furious. She only ever called him 'Potter' when she was wanted to wring his neck and leave him for the crows. The last time she'd called him by his family name (after he'd foolishly agreed with Ron that she was somewhat 'emotionally high-maintenance', especially around her period), he'd found every single article of his wardrobe irreversibly Transfigured. His closet and dresser had been filled with tight, white dresses, a selection of skimpy women's lacy bits, and five-inch stiletto heels. He'd had to spend thousands to replace his robes, shoes (his favourite trainers, too!), and his boxers… and he'd never made that mistake again.

It was time to tread lightly. Lots of flattery was called for.

"We need you," he appealed. "You're our only hope!"

"Don't you give me the Princess Leia plea, Harry James Potter! I handed in my two-weeks-notice before I took over the Lestrange case. At that time, I explicitly told you that it would be my last mission as an Auror. Therefore, I suggest you rid yourself of the ridiculous notion that I can be swayed by cheesy one-liners from classic science fiction movies!"

"Oh, come on!" he argued. "Leia's your favourite Muggle heroine ever – more so than even Beatrice from that Shakespeare play, or that Bennett bird from Jane Austen! You've told me that on a number of occasions! And it's been eighteen months, and we have zero leads on our perp!"

"Not my problem," she stated, casually inspecting the fingernails of her left hand. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time I checked, Aurors dealt with dark wizards, dangerous criminals, and lunatics bent on world domination, not the likes of a glorified burglar." She glanced over at him. "He should be the problem of the Hit-Wizards, Harry, not the Aurors. Let that bunch of lazy, over-paid bureaucrats deal with him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "If we transferred the case to another department, the media would have a field day ribbing the Aurors for admitting defeat. That could create political backlash, especially when it comes time for allotting the annual budgets to the departments. Besides, 'The Serpent' is a high profile case, and the Wizengamot pressured Kingsley into assigning us the case."

"Let me guess: one of those fools thinks he's next on the list."

"Yes," Harry admitted, scowling. He hated being a toady to the system just as much as Hermione did, but he couldn't upset the apple cart or risk his own career. "But more to the point, 'The Serpent' is giving the Ministry a bad reputation. People are starting to question the leadership of the Minister. The longer this criminal remains at large, the more it reflects that our government officials are inept at their jobs. There's an election next year and we don't want a turn-over. 'The Serpent' needs to be captured – immediately."

"Again, that's not my problem," his best friend stubbornly insisted, taking a seat in one of the chairs before his desk and automatically crossing her legs. Her leg jerked back and forth like the tail of an irritated cat.

"Please, Hermione," he begged, trying to keep his attention on her face and not on her long, golden, beckoning legs.

Ever a judicious man (especially one who liked his bollocks exactly where they were), Harry thought it best not to bring any attention to the fact that his companion's fashionable business skirt—which was split up the sides—was currently exposing most of her thighs to him and nearly granting him the infamous 'panty shot'. Still, he couldn't help but fidget nervously in his chair and struggle to keep his concentration.

Truthfully, it was a lot harder not to look down than one would assume. Far from the gangly, bushy-haired, awkward girl of her teenage years, Hermione had sprouted into a confident, attractive woman who turned heads everywhere she went. Ron still cursed himself for letting her go, and clearly, Harry wasn't immune to her charm, either.

_Get back on point, doufus! You'll have time to admire her later… maybe over a glass of red wine and some soft jazz..._

Coughing to cover up the sudden blush that rose to his cheeks, Harry meticulously organized the folders on his desk, studiously avoiding looking below his best friend's face.

Hermione, he noted, sported a serene expression, and a kind smile.

Shite! A serene Hermione during an argument was never a good thing. It meant one of two things: a) terrible revenge awaited the one who had offended her, or b) her resolve was set, and there was nothing that could be said to change her mind.

_Come on, Potter – you defeated Voldemort! Surely you can convince your friend to do you this one tiny, little favour! And maybe get her to agree to dinner…_

_No, no, get your mind out of the gutter!_

"Hermione," he began, voice serious and eyes pleading. "So far, 'The Serpent' has targeted nine pure-blood families. The other nineteen are all demanding we do something Who's to say he'll stop at robbing the wealthy? He needs to be put behind bars."

"Your depiction of the thief is quite interesting, Harry," Hermione commented, taping her perfectly manicured nails on the chair's arm rest. "The press makes him out to be a fashionable rebel, and the people worship him. It helps his reputation that the objects he's s stolen so far have been priceless Muggle pieces, many believed to have been lost over the centuries. He's returned them to their rightful owners."

Harry cursed under his breath. Ironically, what she'd said was true. Their elusive robber was not a common criminal; they were dealing with a modern day Robin Hood, and predictably, the general public loved him.

"He's still a thief, Hermione. He works outside the law, and you know we can't allow that. Don't tell me you support him?"

"Of course not," she responded with a frown. "We can't have civilians becoming vigilantes and taking the law into their own hands. It's too dangerous!"

"Exactly!" Harry stated, enthusiastically banging his fist on his desk. "He's dangerous-"

"But," Hermione interrupted him with a severe expression, "that doesn't mean I'm taking up the case. Give it to Proudfoot, or Ron. They're both exceptional at tracking down criminal masterminds – and available to do so."

"They're both already assigned another case. Besides, Kingsley wants the best Auror on the job,and that happens to be you."

"Well, you'll have to do with your second best, Harry," she informed him. "I'd warned you months ago I'd be retiring after bringing in the Lestranges. That was my goal and I completed it, so now I'm ready to transfer to the Public Defender's office. I've already put in for a transfer and-"

"The Minister halted your application," he sheepishly revealed, praying she'd spare the messenger. At her furious expression, he lifted his hands in surrender. "It wasn't my idea, I swear! I was just informed this morning!"

Standing up, she placed her hands on his desk and leaned over it menacingly.

Perhaps a bit inappropriately, Harry just happened to notice her blouse's plunging neckline exposed a tantalising amount of cleavage as she bent down, and he berated himself for perving again over his best friend..

"Listen here, Harry James Potter: if you think you can coerce or blackmail me into taking this case, you're mistaken. I can always quit! Trust me when I say there are an abundance of job offers waiting for me once I leave the Ministry!"

Unfortunately for Kingsley, Harry knew that was no false brag. Hermione Granger was not only a war hero, but a powerful witch with record-breaking graduation results and a stellar Auror record. She had proven time and again over the last ten years that her title as the 'Brightest Witch of the Generation' had been well-earned. The moment she'd had her diploma at hand, job offers had rained down upon her; foreign Ministries, companies from all over the world, and various Masters of the trade looking for an apprentice had all practically dropped their knickers to entice her into their ranks.

Hermione could literally walk out the Ministry right this moment, and have a new, shiny job by the time she crossed the threshold.

Sometimes, Harry was irked by how talented, strong-willed, and intelligent she was, especially as it proved an annoying quality when trying to pressure her into doing things his way.

Not that he'd ever threaten Hermione. Again, he loved his balls right where they were.

_Quick, damage control, Potter!_

"There's no need for hasty decisions, 'Mione," he placated the seething woman. "No one is trying to strong-arm, or Merlin forbid, blackmail you. I'm sure the P.D.'s office wouldn't mind waiting a few months to have you on-board. God knows, they've been hounding us for years to give you to them. I'm sure Kingsley just believes you'll do a lot more good in this case than the rest of the department combined, and truth be told, I need you, Hermione. This is not a duel, where I can fight and beat the opponent into submission. This is a battle of wits. This bloke's brilliant, and in order to catch him we need someone smarter than him. You are the smartest person I know. I'm not asking this as Harry Potter, Head Auror, and your superior. I'm asking as just Harry, your friend."

By the time his little speech had ended, Hermione had calmed, as if the storm within her had blown over. Her eyes were dark, and her lips pressed into a thin line, but the red-hot fury had dissipated.

"You're not playing fair, Harry," she grumbled, and gracefully sat back down in the chair.

Harry mentally did a victory dance.

"Oh, all right." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'll do it."

_Don't smirk, Potter. Play it cool._

"Thank you," he said with true sincerity.

Hermione glared. "Drop the act; I know you are cheering on the inside, you manipulative bastard."

Harry started laughing. "I'm sorry," he conceded. "It's just... I really missed you."

Her eyes softened, and a genuine smile graced her lips. "I missed you too, Harry." She reached across his desk, and gently grasped his hand in hers. "It's been far too long since the last time we spent time together."

"Four months, three weeks, and six days," he reiterated instantly.

Startled, she titled her head, silently questioning him on his exactness.

Harry felt the blush across his cheeks. "What? I can tell you how long have been since I last saw Ron as well!" he lied, feeling vulnerable and defensive.

With a smirk and a twinkle in her eyes, Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure you can."

He scowled.

"Don't scowl, dear. Your face might get stuck that way."

"Oh, shut up."


	3. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

_**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**_  
><em><strong>Chapter 2<strong>_  
><em><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>_

Hermione fought down the urge to fidget when Malfoy waltzed into the conference room, a shit-eating grin on his face as he regarded her with thinly veiled amusement. Determined not to show how uncomfortable she was she tried her best to appear composed and collected.

Inside, she was seething just a little, though.

It was true that when a reluctant Harry had mentioned that Draco Malfoy was the prosecutor assigned 'The Serpent's' case her reaction probably could have been a bit more professional, true. She had, after all, always prided herself on keeping her composure in the direst of situations; over the life of her career, she'd been thrown into some pretty trying situations (like that time she'd been thrown into the middle of the Amazon rainforest without a wand, or the time she'd dealt with a band of sadistic giants), but she had always handled those situations with great aplomb. So, when she'd discovered she'd have to deal with Malfoy, the wizard who had once taunted her for an entire term at school about being related to the Bushy-haired Banshee, she should have shrugged it off and put on her best face.

To her dismay, it seemed that her level-headedness flew right out the window whenever he was involved. Of course, it didn't help that his smart mouth had the keen ability to bring out the inner child in her (oh, how she hated losing an argument to him!).

To be fair, though, she did seem to be able to bring out the worst in Malfoy as well; he regularly lost his temper when dealing with her, too. Their yelling matches in the Ministry halls, in fact, had become a thing of legend whenever they'd been required to work together over the past decade, at least according to Ron.

Admittedly, their feuding had simmered down a bit after Hermione had saved Narcissa Malfoy's life from a rogue Death Eater just last year, however.. Maybe it had been seeing Hermione lying up in hospital from severe burns in the wake of that attack that had made Malfoy less hostile towards her overall. Whatever the cause, he'd been less annoying towards her than usual of late.

Still, he loved to irritate her and give her cheek whenever the fancy struck him.

Needless to say, finding out she'd have to work with the bane of her existence in such close proximity again, possibly for months this time, was a bitter pill to swallow.

However, after ranting at Harry for half an hour straight this morning, and threatening to separate him from his family jewels, she'd finally calmed down enough to acknowledge the benefits of cooperation in this case: Malfoy may be a git, but he was a brilliant prosecutor. Publicly, she grudgingly admitted he was probably the best attorney in the Ministry (while privately, she admitted that watching the blond menace verbally slaughter his opponents in court, was a huge turn on).

Yes, she'd been fantastically manipulated into working one last time with Malfoy to solve 'The Serpent' case, but she was now resolved to that path and girded up to deal with his shit. So, this current spike in irritation she was feeling for him had nothing to do with past slights, or his irascible smirk, or even the fact that she'd been waiting for half an hour for the meeting to start because Malfoy was late.

No, her present vexation had everything to do with what she'd walked in on just three hours previously...

**.*.*.*.*.**

_**EARLIER**_

Wanting to familiarize herself with the case before the official preliminary meeting with Malfoy, Hermione arrived at the Ministry three hours early. She immediately headed for Malfoy's office to retrieve 'The Serpent's' file.

After John Dawlish had been taken off the case (what had Harry been thinking assigning such an incompetent fool to a case this important anyway?), she'd been told that Malfoy was the only one with the complete file, his private notes included. So, it she was off to sneak into his office and steal a peek.

Her purposeful steps halted when she noticed Malfoy's assistant was missing from her desk. As lunch was still two hours away, Hermione knew the witch should have been in her post. Annoyed with the seeming ineptitude of the administrative staff around the department, but thankful at the same time (as the woman's absence made breaking in an easy task), Hermione walked to Malfoy's door, prepared to Alohamora it... but she stopped short.

The door hadn't closed properly, and soft, easily recognizable sounds came from within Malfoy's office. Hermione had a feeling what she'd find once she pushed the door open, but her curiosity got the better of her common sense (another bad trait of hers that occurred frequently around Malfoy, she noticed) and she was unable to stop herself from moving forward to look.  
>Low moans, heavy breathing, and the muted sound of skin slapping against skin, made her stop again.<p>

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Did she really want to see that?

Yes, Yes, she did. Absolutely.

Knowing it was wrong didn't stop her from reaching for the knob, and pushing the door wide open. The vision that greeted her would eternally be burned into her mind's eye:

Astoria Greengrass was pushed against the floor-to-ceiling mirror wall that decorated one whole side of Malfoy's office, her silk shirt unbuttoned and flapping open, and her skirt hiked up over her thighs. Her long, stocking-covered legs were tightly wrapped around her boss' snapping hips. For his part, Malfoy's trousers and pants were shoved to his knees, and from where she stood, Hermione had had a great view of his firm, pale buttocks as he relentlessly pounded into his writhing secretary. The complete abandonment and rapture on Greengrass' face as the brunette witch bit her lip to keep from crying out had Hermione flushing with arousal.

Of course, the Devil himself looked up right then, and Hermione's gaze locked with his in the mirror's reflection. His silvery eyes, dark with lust, widened momentarily in shock, before a wicked gleam entered them, and his usual smirk, so full of male arrogance, graced his lips.

He stared at her then as he kept thrusting away, unconcerned by Hermione's voyeurism – taking great amusement from it, in fact.

Irritated by his conceit and refusing to let him see that his callousness about such an intimate act embarrassed her, she threw him a disgusted sneer and walked out of his office with her head held high. She then spent half an hour in Harry's private bathroom trying to battle her raging hormones and to soothe the ache that had developed between her thighs.

Afterwards, she gave herself 'the talk': she was twenty-eight, reasonably attractive, intelligent, a successful Auror, and had had three high profile relationships with men who knew their way around the bedroom. Therefore, walking in on Draco ferret-face Malfoy and his assistant banging like two monkeys on holiday wasn't that big a deal. In fact, it had left her utterly disinterested.

Really, it did.

Really.

Now if only she could convince her mind to erase the entire event from her brain, everything would be just peachy. Apparently her stupid brain had missed the memo, though, forbidding her from finding Draco Malfoy and his delectable buttocks attractive, for it required another thirty minutes of convincing herself to stop fantasizing that it had been her in Greengrass' place, and that in the end, her best option was to ignore the entire thing – to pretend it had never happened.

And then he walked into the conference room and smirked at her... and the gauntlet was thrown.

**.*.*.*.*.**

_**NOW**_

Pretend it never happened, she coolly reminded herself and arched an unimpressed eyebrow at his stupid smirking face. She then turned back to file on the Lestrange case before her and began reading through it again, giving him a curt dismissal.

"Well, hello, Granger," he drawled, his lips quirked at the corner, his eyes alight with silent laughter. "You seem a little flushed there. Everything alright?"

Son-of-a-bitch! He wasn't going to have the good sense to let it go, was he? Egotistical prat!

Forgetting her resolve to ignore him, Hermione looked up. "I'm fine, actually." She was proud at how steady and unaffected she sounded. "It's just a little warm in here. I'm used to Antarctic temperatures. Nothing to worry yourself about."

His fine brows lifted, and his smile deepened. "Warm? I think it's actually a little chilly. Don't you think so, Tori?" His tone was dripping with false innocence, and his smile was wicked.

Astoria Greengrass didn't look like she had just been fucked against a wall to within an inch of her life. Her hair and stylish outfit were both impeccable, and her make-up had obviously been re-applied. Hermione had to give it up to the woman; her indiscretions with Malfoy aside, Greengrass appeared poised and utterly professional. That is, if you didn't count the disdain the witch directed at her.

With a shark-like smile, Greengrass flicked a lock of shiny mahogany hair behind her shoulder. "Yes, indeed. Perhaps that's something you could talk to Magical Maintenance about after this meeting, Ms. Granger. We all know how you like to fix the world's problems."

Hermione smiled serenely and tapped a bright red fingernail on the folder resting before her on the conference table. "Sorry, I'm busy catching serious criminals at the moment. Perhaps as a member of the administrative staff, you could call upon them. Isn't that your job, anyway - to handle the mundane issues?"

"Ouch! Score one Hermione!"

Ron waltzed in like he owned the place, his Auror cape handsomely flapping behind him, lending him an air of power.  
>Hermione whirled in her chair to greet her friend, a huge, relieved smile on her face. Good timing!<p>

"Ron!"

Standing, she side-stepped Malfoy and his twit of an assistant, and moved towards her ex. She squealed with laughter when Ron picked her up and twirled her around in greeting.

Hermione fleetingly thought it was not such a great idea being twirled around, as she was wearing a flared skirt (God knew what Malfoy's view was!), but her happiness at seeing her friend after so long overshadowed any lingering thoughts of propriety. After all, Malfoy had been shagging his secretary, so he was hardly one to talk about professionalism in the workplace!

"I missed you." Ron mumbled in her ear, gently placing her on her feet.

Her answering smile was radiant, and she reached up to tousle his ginger locks. "I missed you too."

"You'd better have." He good naturedly patted her back, and held her at arm's length to take a good look at her. "You look great! Cold seems to agree with you."

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't even joke about it," she grumbled, and motioned him to the chair beside hers. Harry and the Minister were in a meeting, and it could take a while before they arrived, so she had time to catch up with Ron. "I was ready to Avada Stevens for screwing up. Because of him, we were held up three extra weeks!"

"Yeah, I heard about that. Poor bloke."

Hermione's face twisted in annoyance. "More like idiotic bloke. He was supposed to wait for backup, not go up against Death Eaters alone! What did he expect? He's a great strategist. I'll give him that. But a duelist? Not so much. The Lestranges were seasoned soldiers, and Stevens is clumsier than Neville after a bottle of Firewhisky. He's lucky we got there in time."

"True, but you've got to admit, it was a pretty smart move on his part to hide under the snow," Ron pointed out.

"He almost died from frostbite, though, and Rabastan nearly got away as a result! If he had had followed my orders, we could have been back weeks ago! Not to mention the amount of paperwork waiting for me when I got back, because of his desire to play hero."

"I'd think someone like you would appreciate a proclivity for heroics, Granger."

Startled, her head snapped to the side. She had forgotten she and Ron weren't alone in the room.

Malfoy had made himself comfortable in a seat across from her, his numerous files and papers in front of him. Astoria was pouring him a cup of tea from the beverage tray set up in advance of the meeting. Her boss was completely disinterested in his secretary, though, watching Hermione with what appeared to be growing interest, his fingers caressing the rough surface of a folder.

Hermione found herself momentarily distracted by how handsome he looked in his charcoal suit.

Seeing his lips quirk, as if he was reading her thoughts in her expression and was mocking her for them, she quit her daydreaming and instead scowled at him. "Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, on the defence.

Seeing his lips quirk, as if he was reading her thoughts in her expression and was mocking her for them, she quit her daydreaming and instead scowled at him. "Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, on the defence.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the table before him. "You are Hermione Granger. Renowned war hero, and arguably the best Auror the department has now that dear Potter has taken the reins. Not to mention you're friends with Hero-Boy himself. If anyone would get off on heroics, it would be you."

"Oi, are you implying Hermione's reckless?" Ron challenged.

Hermione's hand flew to Ron's shoulder, and grabbed on with a tight hold. Lightly, she gave his shoulder a squeeze, letting him know she'd deal with the insult herself. She did not need someone to champion her.

Ron clenched his fists, and gave a slight nod in concession.

Hermione relaxed. Crisis averted.

Brushing a wayward wisp of hair away from her eyes, she levelled a cold, blank look on Malfoy. "You don't know the real me, Mister Malfoy, and see as how you've been a complete and utter twit to me all my life, I can confidently say you never will. Therefore, I would advise you to keep whatever opinions you have regarding my motivations, my behaviours, and my decisions to yourself. That is, unless you want me to make my own opinions about your behaviour‒" She flashed a derisive look at Astoria "‒publicly known. Are we clear?"

They locked eyes, and Hermione thought for a second she saw regret flash in his grey eyes, but a moment later they were empty of all emotion.

"Crystal," he sneered, and flipped open a folder. He bowed over it, and completely tuned her out.

Hermione wasn't fooled; she could see his white knuckle grip on the paper, and the tight line of his mouth. She'd stuck a nerve. Had it been the threat or the comment about him not really knowing her, though, that had made him suddenly bristle and spit?  
>Mentally shrugging, determined not to let thoughts of Malfoy intrude upon her Ron time.<p>

She turned her attention once again to her ex, and engaged him in conversation. She had been gone for nearly five months, and they had a lot of catch up. Merlin knew there was a load of gossip she had missed!

**.*.*.*.*.**

The meeting had been short and to the point.

The first big shock had come when Potter announced that Hermione Granger, was taking over 'The Serpent's' case as the lead investigator. Draco's initial reaction was to sputter, but after a few moments of consideration, he could admit that the fuzzy-headed swot would make a much better captain for the job (and if there was one thing he and Granger agreed upon, it was that John Dawlish was rubbish at investigations).

Still, it was ironic that she'd agreed to take on catching 'The Serpent' as her final case as an Auror.

The conversation had then moved on to the Lestranges, who were both now in custody and awaiting arraignment. To his immense irritation, Draco had been informed that he'd been passed over for the role of the lead prosecutor on that case. When he'd asked why Kingsley hadn't assigned him to the team as a second, at the very least, Potter explained that the Minister had thought it would be a conflict of interest. Draco might have defected from Voldemort's army, but the brothers were still his uncles. His subsequent protests had fallen on deaf ears, and so he had resigned himself to simply watch the trial from the audience.

So, when Astoria knocked on his door and informed him after the meeting that he had a memo from the Minister requesting his presence for another meeting, this time with the Head Auror and Hermione Granger alone, he assumed Shacklebolt had seen the light.

He'd called that one wrong.

"How in the name of Merlin, did Potter convince you to take on 'The Serpent's' case?" he asked Granger, honestly astonished. "The last I'd heard, you'd put in for a transfer the moment you'd returned from Antarctica."

"Keeping tabs on me, Malfoy? Goodness, you really do know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"

Astoria's sour expression made Hermione smirk.

Malfoy's eyes twitched, a sure sign she was getting on his nerves. "Granger..."

The sexy growl in his voice caused tiny shivers of electricity up and down Hermione's spine, and a warm bloom of arousal opened in her core.

The smile was instantly wiped off her face as she realised what that kind of powerful response really meant. She turned away, busying herself with straightening her numerous files, determined to control her body's reaction.

Merlin, this was embarrassing! Yes, snide personality aside, she had always found Malfoy's husky voice to be incredibly sexy. Big deal. And so when he growled like he just had, it wasn't... And after having heard the noises he made in the throes of passion, she wasn't...

Godric almighty, she was positively quivering with lust now!

Mentally cursing, she prayed her face had given away no hint of her sudden and acute need. How humiliating would it be if Malfoy (or worse, his slaggy secretary) were to know about her unexpected and unwanted attraction towards him?

_Damn you, Draco Malfoy!_

She cleared her throat, determined to master her problem with cold rationale. "To answer your question, Harry's a manipulative bastard. He used the friendship card on me."

"He was not sorted into Slytherin for a reason, you know," Draco insisted after half a minute of silence.

Hermione sniffed. "Obviously, the Hat is senile."

"I heard that!" Harry called from the adjustment bathroom.

"You were meant to," Hermione shouted back, packing up her charmed handbag. It was time to leave… to go home… to jump into the nearest cold shower.

She quickly hurried out, leaving without a backward glance or a 'by your leave'.

…And therefore, she didn't notice Draco Malfoy's lips stretch with an amused smile as he watched her walk out, his eyes focused on the gentle sway of her hips.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**_~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~_**  
><strong><em>Chapter 3<em>**  
><strong><em>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<em>**

**_Name: Unknown_**  
><strong><em>Alias: The Serpent<em>**  
><strong><em>Sex: Male<em>**  
><strong><em>Age: Late 20's to early 30's<em>**  
><strong><em>Physical Appearance: 6' 2'', 110 kilos, broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscular. He is described as extremely pale, with dark grey eyes. We cannot eliminate the possibility of magically altered appearance. He usually wears black dragon-hide boots, black pants, and a black long-sleeve shirt.<em>** **_Witnesses agree on a black mask covering the top of his head, leaving only his mouth visible._**  
><strong><em>Uses a variety of Muggle and magical tricks, and he's highly proficient in Charms. *Possible mastery? No known Charm Master had an Apprentice fitting 'The Serpent's' physical description and age for the last fifty years. Inconclusive.*<em>**  
><strong><em>He's been active since 2007.<em>**  
><strong><em>Victims: Crabbe family, Virginia Goyle, Enrietta Greengrass, Caracactus Burke, Aurora Avery, Miles Bletchey, Carrow family, Rosier family, Mafalda Selwyn.<em>**

Hermione sighed, and rubbed her eyes.

For the last week she had read everything she could get her hands on about 'The Serpent', but the reports filed from Dawlish and his team had been a huge waste of time. They were badly written, and missing important facts about the case, like the list of 'The Serpent's' favoured charms—a list she had to track down Antony Goldstein to obtain—and their witnesses' testimonies were filled with irrelevant chatter, ridiculous questions, with equally stupid answers.

In short, Hermione was dead-set on insisting Dawlish be immediately fire, as she was certain 'The Serpent' was still free due to the man's total lack of functional brain cells.

Taking deep breaths to calm down her temper—_killing him won't get 'The Serpent' caught—_Hermione tried to create a proper report to help her investigation. The one thing Dawlish had gotten right was that 'The Serpent's' targets were, indeed, not random. All had been pure-bloods, and every family robbed had been prominent in one or both wizarding wars, either directly involved as Death Eaters or as sympathizers to Voldemort's cause.

She sneered when she read that all the stolen goods were Muggle. Evidently, only Muggles themselves were lower than scum in those people's books. Their art and wealth was top notch and highly prised, however.

The hypocrisy left a rancid taste in her mouth.

Someone knocked on her office door, but before she could say a word, it was thrown open. Astoria Greengrass tromped in, a thick folder in her hands and a pinched expression on her pretty face.

Choosing to ignore the younger woman's grating attitude, Hermione jumped up and grabbed the folder from her hands before she could utter a single word, then spun about and headed back for her desk with a barely muttered, 'thank you'.

Malfoy was thorough in his job, she knew, so his notes in regards to this case were bound to be impeccable. Chances were she'd find more information in this folder than in the ten files sitting on her desk.

She opened the file and started reading.

Absorbed in her research, Hermione didn't immediately notice that her visitor had yet to depart. Once she became aware that Malfoy's ambitious, little lover was still in her space, however, she properly split her attention between the contents of the file and Greengrass' every move. It wasn't smart to be so incautious of a Slytherin inspecting her things, especially this particular snake.

Astoria made herself busy looking around.

"I thought only the Head Auror was given an actual office."

"That's right," Hermione replied, penning notes on a fresh sheet of parchment, but keeping her wand within reach.

Astoria gave a suffering sigh. Clearly, she was _not_ used to being ignored. "Then why do you have one?" she demanded.

The disdain in her voice made Hermione glance up.

As she opened her mouth to answer honestly, she paused. The voice of caution in her head reminded her that information given freely to the ambitious inevitably came back to haunt the unweary. Perhaps she should make Greengrass work for an answer...

"Why do I have one of what?" she asked, feigning innocent ignorance.

Greengrass' cheeks turned dark red with anger. "Why have you got an office, when no other Auror has that privilege? You are not _that_ special."

Aah, so the little bitch was jealous of Hermione's good fortunes. But why? She doubted Greengrass genuinely wanted, or needed to work for a living, so the witch had absolutely no reason to be envious of Hermione's position.

And even if she was jealous, that didn't allow her to behave indecorous, especially as Hermione was her superior.

Calmly marking her place in the file, Hermione gently closed the folder and stippled her fingers together. She then regarded her unwelcome guest with hard eyes and a closed mouth.

Word around the Ministry was Astoria had been hired merely for her prowess in the bedroom and for her striking physical attributes. Staring at her now, Hermione could believe such a thing to be true. Tall and model thin, the youngest Greengrass daughter was stunning, with long, mahogany brown hair, green eyes, and alabaster skin. Her lips were full and pink, perfectly complimenting her high cheekbones. Her tailor-made clothing showed off her minimal curves to their best advantage.

She was said to be quite the ride, too, if the rumour-mill was to be believed. And Hermione had already witnessed the lengths of the woman's ambition that afternoon in Malfoy's office. Clearly, Greengrass had an eye for catching herself a wealthy, attractive, upwardly mobile man who thought more with his balls than his brains.

Unfortunately, that was about all the merit the woman had going for her. While she may be beautiful, lusty, and motivated, she was not the heiress of her family's vast fortune (that privilege went to Daphne, her older sister). Therefore, Astoria's dowry was undoubtedly less than her sister's, so she wouldn't have as much to bring to the marriage table (although, apparently, she'd make up for it in the marriage bed). Further, she lacked a certain caution when it came to conflict, and that implied there existed only a mediocre intelligence in that lovely head of hers.

Basically, Miss Greengrass intended upon using her charms and the "pure blood" that ran through her veins to assure she was established for life.

Hermione felt pity for the ignorant witch, for the woman had no desire aside from becoming someone's trophy – and all for material comfort, which could be easily obtained if she'd apply some of that ambition of hers to a real career.

"Being special has nothing to do with it," she finally explained after a long, contemplative silence. "I have the luxury of an office because I worked my arse off for it. I earned it, properly."

_"__I'd heard it was a bribe from the Minister, because you'd threatened to leave MLE: this office in exchange for you continuing to do your job.__"_  
>"Nice theory, but wrong. They gave me the office <em>before<em> I left for Antarctica. But you're right on one point: this isn't my job, not anymore," she flippantly explained. "I put in for a transfer the moment I returned from my last mission. I'd planned to give up this office even as they were giving me the keys to it. It was Harry Potter who asked me to take over the investigation for 'The Serpent' as a favour to him once I returned from the capture of the Lestranges. I agreed, for friendship's sake."

"Transfer? Where?" Greengrass seemed frantic, anxious almost.

"Everyone thinks it's off to the Public Defender's office, because they've been courting me for the last two years, but I've decided not to go there after all, but to take the _second_offer made to me: the position of M.L.E. Deputy Head."

"Deputy Head... of our _entire_ department," Astoria repeated, clearly shocked by the news. "You're going to be his boss?"

Hermione frowned. "You mean Malfoy?" she asked for clarification, and when Greengrass nodded, Hermione answered the witch with a casual shrug. "Not exactly. Technically, solicitors and barristers are part of the M.L.E., but they primarily work with the Wizengamot and the courts. Especially prosecutors like your boss. Chances are we'll hardly see each other."

"But you are still going to be near us," she insisted.

_What the hell?_

"Well, yes."

Astoria's face turned an interesting shade of puce in an instant. Her green eyes hardened, and her coral painted lips pressed into an ugly sneer. "I knew it!" she shrieked. "From the moment I saw how you acted around Draco, I knew this was your plan!"

"Plan?" Hermione Granger was not used to feeling stupid, but at the moment, she had absolutely no idea what the vapid witch before her was going on about. Perhaps she had misheard her? "What _are_ you talking about, Greengrass?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" Astoria screeched, tiny hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at her side, clearly itching to strike out. "If you think you can take Draco from me–"

"What the hell are you–"

"–you need to think again!"

"–are fucking insane!"

"–mine! He's mine and I won't–"

"That's it, you're mental!"

"–a **Mudblood** take him from me!"

_"ASTORIA!"_

The loud bark froze both witches in their place, a just in time, too. The moment that awful word left Astoria's lips, Hermione's wand was levelled at Greengrass's head in preparation for a Knock-Back Jinx or a _Stupefy_, whichever would be the more deserved.

From her peripheral vision, Hermione noted Malfoy hovering in her doorway, looking mighty fit in a dark blue tailored suit.

He also looked murderous.

"Draco–" Greengrass started, sounding sweet and meek, but he interrupted her with a frosty glare.

"It's Mister Malfoy to you," he spat, his left eye twitching, "and I'd advise you to keep silent, Miss Greengrass. Not only have you insulted a superior, and in her office no less, but you used _that _foul word to verbally attack her. Tell me, what do you suppose I should do with you?"

Astoria's eyes widened and tears sparkled in their depths. She opened and closed her mouth, but there was no accompanying sound; she'd been rendered mute by the horror of the consequences that awaited her.

If she had been anyone else, Hermione might have taken pity on the woman, but as Greengrass had brought this on herself by coming to her office and intentionally picking a fight, Hermione saw no reason to spare the witch the rod. There would be no spoiling this princess any longer. "It's not really up to you, Malfoy," she icily interjected. Both of her visitors turned to her, Malfoy with a fine brow arched, and Astoria with angry eyes. "As you so correctly pointed out, Miss Greengrass has verbally assaulted me, and used a racist slur in regards to my person. With or without provocation, such behaviour is unacceptable in our community and in the Ministry. I want her fired, effective immediately."

Astoria gasped, and turned pleading eyes to Malfoy, who seemed to only have eyes for Hermione.

"And if I don't fire her?"

Greengrass seemed to calm down, and even threw Hermione a victorious smirk.

Hermione's fury hit a tipping point. No one called her a Mudblood and got away with it – not ever again!

"I will file an official complaint with human resources _and_ I will bring this incident to the Minister's attention. My report will, naturally, point out the fact that you deliberately chose to undermine me, and you allowed your assistant to suffer no repercussions for verbally assaulting me due to your personal relationship with her. I'll demand her termination of employment, and your immediate suspension. And then I'll do everything in my power to see you fired as well!"

Silence reigned after her speech, and Hermione maintained eye contact with Malfoy, refusing to back down. She'd gone a little over the top there, but hearing that word again... Greengrass had foolishly lit a fuse on an explosive topic, one that held the deepest, most personal meaning to Hermione. No matter her magical status, she deserved the same respect as any other living being on the planet, and the word 'Mudblood' was meant to demean and humiliate her – to take away her personal agency. It was as vile a word as "slave", in her opinion.

So, no, she wouldn't back down when it came to this subject. Never again.

Malfoy stared at her for a long while in silence, and then a slow smile started on his lips. His eyes crinkled with merriment, and suddenly Hermione was worrying her lip, wondering what exactly he'd found so amusing in her threat.

Without looking away, Malfoy addressed Astoria. "It seems I cannot do anything to save you, Tori. You've dug your grave with your improprietous mouth. Sorry, love, but there's no choice now. You're fired."

"WHAT!?"

Slowly, he turned his head towards Greengrass, his expression dropping into a smooth, dangerous one. "I could swear your hearing was always excellent before, so please read my lips this time: I said you're sacked. Please collect your personal belongings from your office on your way out. And if you don't mind, please tell Mrs Nord she is replacing you as my personal assistant until I find a new one."

While speaking, he had herded Greengrass out the door, using his larger body to crowd her until she moved of her own volition into the hallway. Once beyond the door, Draco took hold of its edge and swung it closed – right in his former secretary's face.

Hermione burst out laughing. She'd tried not to, but simply couldn't help it.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 4<em>**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"What makes you think he's targeting former Death Eaters?" Harry asked, spooning a huge amount of his chocolate fudge sundae in his mouth. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour had reopened a few years ago with the inclusion of a diner, and it had quickly become one of his favourite places to spend his lunch hour when on the job.

Still, it wasn't the kind of place he'd had in mind for a date when he'd invited Hermione out for lunch earlier today.

Well, it wasn't _really_ a date, was it? Harry would have to actually come out and admit to Hermione that he had developed feelings for her, and have her accept him as her boyfriend before their meetings became official 'dates'. Until then, they were just two friends, hanging out and eating.

Confessing his feelings for his best friend was not a conversation he was looking forward to, honestly. He'd been in denial about them for so long before Ron, of all people, had forced him to finally accept the truth. And Merlin knew it would not be a smooth acceptance once he _did_ come clean to his best friend, for Ginny was still sore over their break up and poor Ron had been put in the middle enough. Harry didn't want to add to his ex's unhappiness (or Ron's) by additionally putting an unnecessary strain on their friendship with Hermione. He would have to handle the matter delicately – to be careful and mindful of everyone's feelings, too.

But that wasn't going to happen today, he quickly decided, so he needn't be so wound up over the issue this very second. For right now, he'd focus on 'The Serpent', and on Hermione's brilliant discovery, and let the issue of his personal feelings take a back seat to work.

"He's not just after them," the brunette corrected, dipping a chip in sauce before popping it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing. "He's targeting sympathisers to Voldemort's cause as well."

Harry's brows furrowed as he considered the angle she'd just presented.

"Think about it," she insisted, pointing a finger upward. "All his victims so far are reformed Death Eaters, and families that strongly supported Riddle's cause in one, or both wars. Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Carrow, Rosier, Selwyn – all directly linked to Death Eater activity, and some were even part of Voldemort's inner circle. Yet, the Greengrasses, the Bletchleys, and the Burkes were not. But it's odd that, like the other families that have been targeted by our perp, those three families were in possession of stolen Muggle artefacts and historical pieces of art and jewellery, too – pieces that had been reported stolen during both wars by Death Eaters and Snatchers. How could they have gotten their hands on such stolen goods if they'd remained unaffiliated, as they all claimed? And you can't tell me it is random coincidence that all three families just happened to have retained their positions within the Ministry while Voldemort and his cronies controlled its halls." She slapped her hand down on the table. "I'm telling you, Harry, those items were given to the Greengrasses, Bletchleys, and Burkes for services rendered in secret. They were sympathisers, at least, and that means our 'Serpent' is going after anyone who was, in any way affiliated with Voldemort's gang."

"That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?" he asked, poking at his melting ice-cream.

Firmly, she shook her head. "The Abbotts live literally next door to Mafalda Selwyn, and everyone knows that Hannah's father collects Muggle coins, some worth thousands of pounds. The man has written articles on the subject for various rags over the years. Do you honestly expect me to believe our thief simply bypassed their house, knowing there was a cache of untraceable and legal tender that could make him filthy rich today just to go for an item that would probably be carefully guarded with difficult-to-break spells? No, there's something personal about these thefts, Harry, and they're done not to make our perp rich, but to right wrongs. He's returning the stolen goods to where they belong, I'm sure of it. He's also revealing the 'victims' as thieves at the same time to shame them – showing the world that they're guilty of doing to others what he's doing to them."

"So his targets‒"

"‒are decided in advance, yes. He's probably working down a list. If he is, you do know what the next logical leap is, right?"

Harry gave her a playful smirk. "We can't all be as smart as you, Hermione. Besides, I know how much you love showing off that big brain of yours to your minions, so enlighten me this once."

Rolling her eyes, she threw her napkin at him and gave a suffering sigh. "Honestly, you haven't changed since school, still expecting me to do your homework for you."

"That was Ron," he cheekily pointed out.

She gave him a flat look. "Think about it, will you. Most of his targets live in enormous manors, warded better than the Ministry. How can _one _man bypass all the magical protection, not to mention find his prey in a bloody manor house, _without_ anyone noticing him?"

Harry pondered this, and when he realised what she meant, he dropped his spoon.

"Holy shite! He knows them! He's been in their houses before!"

"Got it in one." Hermione smiled pleasantly, and lifted her burger from its plate, preparing to take a bite. "Our little thief is one of them."

"Sneaky git," Harry said, a little awed by their criminal's master mind.

***.*.*.*.***

Following Hermione's instructions, Harry had one of the department trainees compose a complete list with the names of all known Death Eater and Snatcher families, as well as all possible sympathisers (namely, those who had continued to have a job at the Ministry during that last year of the war, despite Umbridge's inquisition, or those who had been generous in their financial contributions to Voldemort's cause).

It took the young man two days to sift through all of the records from the post-war trials – from both the First and the Second Wizarding War, but in the end, he appeared with a list. After perusing the names, Hermione complimented the trainee, and let Harry know she had high hopes for the former Hufflepuff.

Working diligently, she then took the list and separated it into various data patterns: those who had been robbed versus those who had not, those with family members who had been actually branded Death Eaters opposed to those who had not been deemed worthy to receive the Dark Mark, and finally, those who had deserted Voldemort's cause (the defectors) vs. those who had remained loyal to the bitter end (Harry had insisted she consider that angle as well, as 'The Serpent' might not see a declaration of innocence by the Wizengamot as a reason to exclude the former group from his hunt).

To their chagrin, each list drew different conclusions as to who might possibly be the thief, and therefore, anticipating 'The Serpent's' next victim would be next to impossible.

"We can always eliminate families with no stolen Muggle treasures," Harry offered one afternoon.

Seriously, he was spending more time in Hermione's office than his own! Didn't he have work to do?

"We could, but how many pure-bloods do you think will actually come clean about possessing illegally-obtained Muggle artefacts?" she snapped.

Her lack of substantial progress had made her irritable, Harry noticed. For that reason, he thought it best not to answer her moodily-put question.

"Thought so," she sniped, violently ripping a piece of smudged parchment in half and throwing it in the bin by her desk.

"How about asking the Gringotts goblins?" he carefully offered. "They literally archive every little trinket located in their vaults, down to the last coin. Most, if not all, pure-bloods living in England, Scotland, and Ireland are their clients."

"That's a great idea. I'll just waltz right down there now, shall I, and remind them of the fact that it was I who caused a dragon to destroy their lobby." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and her eye twitched. "I've got a better idea: why don't _you_ start on that right away, Harry. The goblins still give me the evil eye every time I go there, but I'm _sure _it'll be different for you, seeing as how you're the Chosen One and all."

"Yeah, not so much," he sheepishly admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Merlin, why was he constantly put his foot in his mouth today! What the hell was wrong with him? "They really do know how to hold a grudge, huh?"

_Gee, if looks could kill..._

_"_Anyway..._ _er, you seem to have things under control here, so I'll just be off. I've got a disgusting amount of paperwork to finish."

"You'll get no sympathy from me, Potter," she said with a smirk. "You accepted the job of Head Auror. Deal with it."

"Cruel woman."

"Bite me."

With her head bowed over her files, and her attention no longer on him, she missed how her words physically affected him. Just the thought of obeying her command, of lightly sinking his teeth into her bottom lip as he kissed her, had him flushing from head to toe.

Coughing to clear his throat, he tried to sound nonchalant, as he bid her good bye. His voice was still strangely husky, though, he noticed.

Hermione didn't pay him any attention, sadly, and he left with a heavy feeling settling over his chest.


	6. Chapter 5

_**h**__**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N; **This was supposed to be up yesterday, but I was sick so here it is! Thanks for the reviews!

According to Pottermore, around the 1930s a 'Pure Blood Directory' was published anonymously (although it was suspected that the author was Cantankerus Nott) listing the twenty eight Pure Blood families. They are called 'The Sacred Twenty-Eight'.

**PS: **I'd love to hear some of your theories on who's The Serpent after some more chapters are posted! I hope I did a good job at making this story a mystery.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 5<em>**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

A shadow moved across the outer wall of the expansive grounds of the opulent Manor. Sleek and fast, the shadow stealthily climbed the stone walls, and jumped into the lush green gardens.

He, because when the shadow moved closer to the large stone building it became obvious _it _was a _he, _used the night as cover to cross toward the back side of the house where the kitchens and servant quarters were located.

As was the norm for rich people, the owners of the grand house hardly paid attention to the safety and well being of their staff. It was ridiculously easy to find a weak spot in the wards near the rooms where the housekeeper was staying, and he used it to his advantage.

The more potent and dangerous wards—meant to stall and incapacitate intruders—had left him unscathed, recognising his magical signature and allowing him entrance. He _had _been a regular visitor here for years, after all.

With a soft '_click', _the window opened, and the man's mouth, the only part of his face visible of his covered face, quirked into a satisfied smile.

__Piece of fucking cake,___ he thought._

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione swore and stood up, hastening towards the Head Auror's office.

Her heels clacked loudly on the marble floor as she walked, and she ignored the muttering of her co-workers as she passed them by. Her mind was in turmoil, her hands clenching the note she'd just received.

With a second pause to ponder if she should just barge in, or knock, she decided this was a _storm-in-and-look-pissed _moment. So, she did just that.

"What the hell, Potter?" she demanded as she shoved open her friend's door.

Harry froze and quickly looked up from the bagel that was poised and ready to be eaten right before his mouth. He went wide-eyed with shock at her intrusion. "H-Hermione!" Quickly, he set his breakfast back down on his small plate, delaying his meal. "Er, what now?"

He'd had a rough time of it last night, his dreams haunted by wicked thoughts about Hermione. Giving up the ghost of sleep sometime around two in the morning, he had then spent the remaining hours until dawn trying to figure out the best course of action regarding his feelings for the fiery witch standing before him.

Needless to say, he hadn't any luck with putting his mind or body to rest.

"_Explain this__,_" she demanded, throwing the note in her hand at him and sitting heavily in one of the ridiculously cushy arm chairs situated before his desk.

Harry took the piece of parchment from where it had landed and, with a sigh he adjusted his glasses and began to read.

He didn't need to read the signature at the bottom to know the author of the letter. Draco was the only person he knew who used emerald-coloured ink. Evidently common blue was too banal and trite for a Malfoy.

__Pretentious arse.__

He got to the end of the note and looked up at her over the rim of his glasses. "What about it?" he asked.

Hermione looked positively enraged, and he had no idea why. All Malfoy had done was congratulate her on making progress in her new case. It had taken Dawlish six months just to put together a theory, and five cases after that to realise the victims' pure bloodlines were the common element (which actually shot down his initial theory).

"_What about it?_" she shrieked. "How can you... Don't you see?"

Harry sighed again, realising what this was all really about.

They might deny it until the end of time, but Malfoy and Hermione actually had something in common: an unnatural love for theatrics. Specifically, they over-dramatised every little thing the other did. He would never tell either of them that fact, for he loved being able to breathe without the aid of a machine, thanks, but both his best friend and his former worst enemy tended towards similar reactions when confronted with something the other had done. "Yes, 'Mione, _what about it?"_

She stared at him like he was daft.

He rolled his eyes and re-folded the note. "Look, I know you and Malfoy have a _strenuous _relationship." __Understatement of the century, __he silently snarked. "But in this case, all he did was to write you a very complimentary note of congratulations regarding your breakthrough in the case. I don't see why you're so upset this time."

Hermione eyed him, disbelievingly. "I have no issue with him _congratulating_ me," she stated, sneering at the word, "even though it wasn't really a breakthrough. Any half-brained idiot could have seen the connection–"

She was winding herself up for a rant of epic proportions.

"Hermione," Harry attempted to interject, but she overrode him.

"What I'm furious about, is _how _he knew about said breakthrough?"

Harry frowned. "Well, because I told him."

"You what?!" She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "_Why_ did you tell him?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're working on the same team, aren't you?" When she didn't reply, Harry gaped at her. "You _**can't**_ be serious."

"Perfectly serious, Harry," she replied. "That was confidential information."

"He's the prosecutor handling 'The Serpent's' case!"

"And he'll have everything he needs to put the bastard in jail _when _I catch him. He doesn't need to know anything until then."

"Hermione," Harry frowned at her, pushing his glasses up his nose, "I know you don't like him–"

"This has nothing to do with my feelings for Malfoy, Harry."

"It doesn't?"

"No."

"Then why are you holding back information? You know as well as I do that Malfoy is bloody brilliant. If you cooperate with him, you'll catch our guy before you can say, 'poppycock'!"

"'Poppycock'," she dared, then looked around with an exaggerated swing of her head. "Nope, I don't see any masked man here, do you?"

Harry face-palmed in exasperation. For someone as mature and poised as Hermione, she sure could be an immature brat when she wanted to be. "Stop, I'm serious."

"So am I," she said, tapping a bright-blue fingernail on his desk. "I told you our guy is, or has been, on friendly terms with our vics. He must have been, because he would need to spend at least a few days in their _enormous_ Manors in order to know his way around. Seeing as how they all are famous for their views on blood purity, I doubt they'd allow anyone of quote-unquote 'lesser blood' into their homes, much less befriend them. That means our guy is a pure-blood, and quite possibly a former Death Eater or sympathiser himself."

"You told me that before."

"I'm well aware," she impatiently growled, "but you don't seem to __listen_._ Our guy is possibly a pure-blood with a Death Eater background, and he'd be friends with our victims. Ring any bells?"

It took him a few seconds to realise where she was getting at and when he did, his eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You think _Malfoy _is 'The Serpent'?"

"He fits the profile, ergo he's a suspect."

"He's working the bloody case with you!"

"And what a fantastic alibi that is, don't you think? That's why I don't want him to be privy to any sensitive information that may lead to 'The Serpent's' identity being revealed or our plans for an arrest. If it's him, he'd get fair warning and could bugger out and go underground. Then, we'd lose him – and _that_ would be detrimental for any plans Kingsley might have to run for re-election... which is why I was brought in on this case in the first place, if I'm guessing correctly."

"You're not wrong," Harry admitted. "And yeah, I admit your argument makes some sense... but Hermione, really?_ Malfoy_? He's not the same bloke he was back in school, you know. He's changed. He's–"

"I know Harry. I've seen how hard he's worked to reinstate his family's name and respectability," she quietly admitted, "but he's still a reasonable suspect. Merlin knows, I'm almost certain he's not our guy, but..." She left the thought hanging.

Harry picked it up and voiced it. "It's not a risk you're willing to take, especially with careers and campaigns hanging in the balance."

"Exactly."

"Bloody politics."

Silence reigned in the office as the two friends pondered the possibilities she'd brought up.

Truth be told, Hermione had felt her heart squeeze when she'd written Malfoy's name on her suspect list. It wasn't a short list, only one name amongst dozens of others, but it was still significant that it needed to be there at all.

However, despite her personal feelings on the matter, Hermione could not, with a clear conscience, declare Malfoy innocent without verifying it first.

Unfortunately, she didn't know him well enough in his personal life outside work to determine if there was a possibility he couldn't be 'The Serpent'.

And then there were other niggling facts that cropped up to convolute the issue. Such as, if you took the fact that he was stealing out of the case 'The Serpent' was really doing something good for society by returning to Muggles pieces of their history – history they'd believed lost forever. As a Muggle-born witch, Hermione secretly admired their perp for that compassion and bravery.

Still, he was breaking the law and she was an Auror, tasked to stop him. That meant she had to set her personal views aside and consider all aspects of the case with cold, rational logic. She had to rely on the facts to catch him, not on her feelings.

"Can't you narrow down the list even further?" Harry eventually asked.

By no means was Malfoy a friend to Harry, but the man had gone through hell and back in his attempts to clear his name and to prove to the wizarding world that he was a changed man, and in Harry's book, that counted for something. If Hermione's suspicions went public, though, he hated to think what that would mean for Draco and his family.

As head of the investigation though, it was _Hermione's_ job to determine the next official action in the case. If she thought Malfoy had to be in her list, then there was little he could (or should) do to change that fact. He had to remain impartial.

"There might be a way," Hermione admitted.

"Really?" For some reason, that made him feel a little less guilty.

"Yes." Hermione furrowed her brows thoughtfully. "We have nine victims... And the pure-bloods associated with Voldemort and his cause aren't _that _many. We have maybe nineteen that are roaming free that fit the bill."

"That's no so many, yeah?"

"No, it's not, actually. There aren't as many outside of Azkaban as in, and that's why they tend to group together, like rats on a sinking ship." She smirked, and continued. "If we take out families that we know ran for the continent during Voldemort's second coming to avoid getting involved directly, that leaves us with approximately eleven families."

"Assuming 'The Serpent' isn't a member of one of our victims, to throw off the scent."

"A valid hypothesis," she agreed. "I did consider it as well, but Dawlish actually did something right in this case and had all wands from family members of the victims tested with _Priori Incantantem_. There was no match for the kind of charm work on the crime scenes. And John made an astute observation in his file as well: he mentioned that 'The Serpent' might have a mastery in Charms. His finesse and technique are, apparently, remarkable."

Harry noted how flushed Hermione's cheeks were, and how her eyes sparkled and he felt a jealous stirring in his gut. "Well, don't wet yourself over it," he grumbled.

Hermione turned an even brighter shade of crimson. "Harry Potter!"

"Sorry," he mumbled, but really not sorry at all. It pissed him off how amazed she looked over a criminal. He'd always suspected intellect was a turn-on for Hermione, but for Godric's sake, she'd dated Ron! No offence to his best mate, but having smarts couldn't be _that_ much of a decisive factor, right?

There was tension-filled silence for a long while. Then, abruptly, Hermione stood up and headed for the door.

Harry jumped to his feet and rushed to stop her. "Wait, Hermione, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me, but I'm sorry!"

Hermione remained stiff under his grip on her shoulders for a few agonising seconds and Harry felt his heart pounding in his chest as he feared he'd overstepped a boundary he hadn't known existed between them.

Eventually, she relaxed and finally met his eye. "Apology accepted. I won't be so forgiving next time, Harry. Remember that."

_Man, when had she become so hard and unforgiving?_

"There won't be a next time, promise," he vowed, reaching out and grasping one of her hands. He marvelled at how soft her skin was, and how smaller her hand was compare to his.

"See to it you keep that promise, Mr. Potter."

She squeezed his hand, and with a tremulous half-smile, left his office.

For the rest of the day, Harry's foul mood chased him much as his dreams had the night before.


	7. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><em><strong>Chapter 6<strong>_  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

_**GRANGER IS BACK, AND AFTER A SNAKE  
>Will The Serpent Meet his Match?<strong>_

_**Beloved war heroine, Hermione Granger, age 28, is back in town after she and her team of fellow Aurors successfully subdued and captured the infamous Lestrange brothers (Inner Circle Death Eaters, and the last war criminals not behind the bars of Azkaban's cells), as well as three of the men's accomplices last month in the south pole.**_

_**According to inside sources, the Antarctic mission was to be Ms. Granger's last as a member of the esteemed Auror Division, headed by none other than the Chosen One, himself, Harry Potter – personal friend and close confidant of Ms. Granger. Presumably, the witch conveyed her wishes to end her law enforcement days on a high note and to pursue other career possibilities in her advancing age. However, sources within the Ministry have confirmed just today to yours truly that Ms. Granger specifically requested to terminate her relationship with Mr. Potter's office, and to transfer to a more politically lucrative post within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's upper Administration Services.**_

_**Our source close to the Head of the DMLE, who will remain anonymous, let it slip that the renowned witch has been offered, and recently accepted, the position of Deputy Head of the entire department. However, it remains to be seen how Ms. Granger plans to utilize her new, more powerful position to change the political scenery of the Ministry, especially as she is known to hold onto radical and controversial beliefs.**_

_**When asked about it, Minister Shacklebolt replied: "No doubt Ms. Granger will be as successful in whatever new position she takes as she was in the Auror division."**_

_**Despite such praise, it seems the Minister isn't quite ready to hand over the reins of his most formidable and influential department to Ms. Granger, though, as he followed up his first statement with a surprising announcement: "However, at this time, her expertise and talents are being utilized on one last case for the department. Once it's been successfully resolved, then she'll be moving into her new position."**_

_**No further explanation was given about this mysterious new case, or why Ms. Granger's been delayed from her transition by it, dear readers, but here at Witch Weekly we have our suspicions: might it be the case of the elusive Serpent, who has been a particular unresolved thorn in the Head Auror's side of late?**_

_**For eighteen months, the thief targeting pure-blood households has made a mockery out of Mr. Potter's department and his leadership by continually evading capture. Further, it is a known fact that the former lead on the case, John Dawlish, has continually embarrassed his division with little-to-no progress over the past year and a half, and has in fact recently announced his retirement.**_

_**We suspect the talented Ms. Granger has been called in by Head Auror Potter to take over for Mr. Dawlish in an attempt to save her long-time friend's future political ambitions by resolving the case at long last. If such is the case, then the infamous Serpent will go up against the supposed 'Brightest Witch' of her generation. Will Ms. Granger be a match for the charismatic thief? Will we finally find out who is hiding under the black mask?**_

_**One thing we can report on with certainty: the next few months have just become a whole lot more interesting.**_

_**Till next time, my lovelies!**_

_**~Rita Skeeter**_

***.*.*.*.***

"_"_Beloved? Talented? Since when are you Skeeter's 'beloved', Ms. Granger?" Ron asked with a chuckle.

"Since I promised her I will only let her interview me if she kept her Quick Quotes Quill away," Hermione replied, crossing her legs, and waving her wand over her desk. The mess of opened folders, half written reports, and various parchments with notes in the margins flew into the desk's drawers. A silver tray replaced them on the top of the desk, heavy with a silver tea pot, a small pot of honey, slices of lemon, and an assortment of freshly baked biscuits that Mrs. Weasley had send over to her just that morning.

"You are an angel," Ron flattered her, gratefully accepting a cuppa and helping himself to a few goodies.

"I know. I should be awarded sainthood, but who listens?" she dryly joked, fixing herself a cup of tea as well, and grabbing a choco-biscuit from the stack.

"If you're ever up for nomination, I'll vote for you," her ex promised, all serious. "What are friends for, right?"

"Right."

They stared at each other, both struggling to keep a straight face.

"Anyhow," she cleared her throat, "What's news?"

"Same old. My new case, which I'm not allowed to talk about to anyone, is a major pain in the arse. I can handle it though. Oh, and Lavender called me – _again._"

"I thought she was with Seamus now?"

"They broke up – _again_. Apparently, she hasn't stop thinking about me."

"Please tell me you're not considering getting back together with her."

He snorted. "That ship's not just sailed, it's around the other side of the world. I'm done with her."

"That's good to hear." She sipped her tea. "You deserve better."

They wasted long minutes on idle chit chat before they got down to the reason for his visit.

Placing his cup on its saucer, her ex looked at her with concern. "How are you handling all this?"

"I take it you mean 'The Serpent' case?"

"And all the publicity that comes with it."

Hermione frowned, thoughtful. "Well, I suppose. I'm used to public scrutiny, thanks to that rotten Skeeter, and Harry warned me in advance of how media followed the case, so I was prepared. He might be a manipulative arse, but he's no liar."

Ron grinned. "Maybe, but he wasn't sorted Slytherin for a reason. Too honest."

Hermione started, recalling Malfoy saying something similar just a few days prior. "Crazy," she agreed half-heartedly, her mind on the one blond in the universe who had the uncanny ability to invade her thoughts at the most inopportune times, and to make her obsess over his every word.

Worse, the utter prick had decided to camp out in her recent dreams _and_ he refused to leave, no matter how many times she repeated the mantra, '_I don't find Draco Malfoy attractive'_.

She was a lousy liar – always had been.

Yes, it was definitely time to go on a date. She needed a good, hard shag from some random, fit stranger to get the image of Malfoy and his thrusting, pale buttocks and his exasperatingly sexy smirk out of her head. It was long overdue, actually.

It was either that, or she'd end up jumping Malfoy in his office. 

***.*.*.*.***

"Hermione Granger?"

Hermione looked up from perusing the Ministry cafeteria's menu (a dreadful list, really… she needed to start packing her own lunch) and found herself entranced by a pair of stunning sapphire-coloured eyes.

Against her will, her eyes roamed downward, taking in the full measure of the man before her.

_Dear Lord, now that's a pleasant surprise!_

The man was tall, with a sleek, athletic build that was stylishly accented by the cut of his fashionably tailored suit and a black woollen coat fresh from the pages of GQ. His black hair was short in the back with longer fringes in the front, and was a stark contrast to his pale, smooth skin. He was undoubtedly one of the most gorgeous men she had ever laid eyes upon (which was saying something, considering she was well-acquainted with Draco 'sex-on-legs' Malfoy).

"Hello. Do I know you?" she asked, head tiled to the side as she inconspicuously checked him over.

He smiled, and she felt her insides flutter. God, he was hot!

"Not in the traditional sense, no," he cheekily answered, and without asking permission took the empty seat across from her.

"Then in what custom _do_ you know me, sir?" she flirted back. She'd decided to ignore his presumptuousness, and just go with the flow. After all, how often did she find herself the sole focus of a gorgeous male's attention – one who didn't enjoy baiting her?

"We attended Hogwarts together, although we've never been formally introduced."

Now her curiosity was piqued. Hermione remembered all the students in her year, even the ones she hadn't been friends with, and the man before her didn't remind her any of her former schoolmates. "I don't recall seeing you before, although I admit I had my nose stuck in a book for most of my school years. Perhaps it's time we were acquainted properly."

He grinned, and she noted how straight and white his teeth were. Lord, what a turn-on!

"Back then, you wouldn't have given me the time of day even if I'd had the nerve to approach you with hand outstretched. Wrong House affiliations on both sides of the equation. I consider it fortunate, in fact, that one of the only reasons you haven't hex me yet is because you don't recognise me and your curiosity has gotten the better of you."

"Really? Sussed me out that easily, have you?"

"Yes," he confidently persisted. "You see, I've been watching you for quite some time, Ms. Granger, and I've noticed one interesting thing about you: you're easily bored by us mere mortal men. It seems my gender offers you no challenge whatsoever. If I'd answered your question up front as to my name, and hadn't intrigued you with that mystery to solve, I wouldn't be sitting across the table from you right now and we wouldn't be having this delightful conversation. You'd have sent me away sometime after, 'hello, nice to meet you'." He sat back in his seat and playfully smirked at her. "So, in withholding my identity, I get to sit and talk with you for a little while, at least until that magnificent brain of yours figures me out. Have you guessed my name yet, by the way?"

Hermione folded her arms on the table and leaned over them, a twinkle in her eyes. "Intrigued as I am to play your game, you do know it's considered extremely rude not to introduce yourself? I mean, it doesn't exactly make for the best of impressions, especially if you were hoping for a future opportunity to sit across a table from me – say at a swank restaurant in London, one that employs a world-class French chef and has an exclusive wine list."

Throwing his head back, her mystery man laughed uproariously, earning him the appreciative attention of the cafeteria's female patrons.

Still chuckling, he extended a hand over the small table. "They were right about you: you are an amazing woman, Ms. Granger. My apologies for acting in such an ungentlemanly manner. My name is Theodore Nott, and I'd like to extend an invitation to dinner as a way of apologising for my behaviour." 


	8. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for not updating yesterday! I came back late from work, studied for an exam, and then decided to take a short nap. Well, I thought it'd be short; I got in bed around 7 in the afternoon, and woke up this morning... Oops!

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><em><strong>Chapter 7<strong>_  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"Oh my God, oh my God, _OH MY GOD! _You have a date with _the_ Theodore Nott!_"_ Ginny Weasley shouted, her excitement making her literally bounce in her chair.

Thank goodness the restaurant they were visiting had a long standing policy of permanent Privacy Charms around every table in the establishment. It was one of the reasons Hermione preferred it, actually, and the reason her friend's embarrassing reaction remained sight-unseen by others outside the spell's effective radius.

Contrary to the speculation and rumour rags (fuelled by writers like Skeeter), Hermione and Ginny were not mortal enemies. They had never fought over Harry, and although sometimes Ginny was rather touchy and troubled by her on-off relationship with Hermione's best friend, she never blamed anyone for inciting that character flaw. Ginny fully owned her insecurities.

After Ginny's tearful apology for sending the Basilisk after her during that whole 'Chamber of Secrets' fiasco back in school, the two young women had formed a strong and lasting friendship. Sixteen years later, they were closer than ever – which was why Ginny was the first to know of Hermione's impending date.

She hadn't anticipated her friend to react so excitedly, however. "Will you calm down?" she hissed, looking around to make sure the privacy enchantments were still in place. Ginny's reaction had been rather exuberant, and accidental magic _was_ known to happen in such instances.

"Sorry," Ginny replied, forcibly calming herself down, "but Theodore Nott? He's number three in _Witch Weekly_'s most eligible bachelors list! He's gorgeous, 'Mione, _and_ the proud owner of an art gallery in Muggle London, _and_ the co-owner of the Holyhead Harpies. He's my boss, for feck's sake!"

"Number three, huh?"

"Harry's number two," Ginny stated, her expression a bit tight with jealousy. Being currently 'off' with Harry was making her friend irritable when it came to reminding her of how desirable he was to other women.

Number three, just under the Boy Who'd Conquered. How extraordinary. Hermione hadn't realised Theo was such a sought after man when she'd agreed to his proposal for dinner yesterday. How flattering to have been stalked by such a hunk!

Of course, once he'd introduced himself, she'd remembered him – but only by his father's criminal file. As the son of one of Voldemort's Inner Circle Death Eaters, there had been an extensive write-up on him contained in the elder Nott's dossier. Apparently, Theodore had been second best in their Advanced Charms class back in school, after her (Hermione had been so busy those last few years between Prefect duties, the whole Won-Won thing, and helping out Harry that she'd hardly given him a glance, though).

That little fact was an unfortunate one, as Theo was one of her suspects in 'The Serpent' case.

She was a bit ashamed to admit that one of the reasons she'd accepted his invitation was to find out whether or not his family owned any Muggle artefacts, art, or jewellery 'The Serpent' might find remotely theft-worthy – anything that could make him a target, rather than a suspect. Because it would be a shame if someone that sexy were her bad guy.

Of course, being in such close, personal space would also give her access to his fingerprints, left behind on silverware. It would be an easy matter to lift a fork or butter knife to take back to the criminal labs…

"So who's number one on the infamous list?" Hermione asked, hoping to distract her friend from thoughts of her ex. And she _was_ curious, for who could be more desirable than the wizarding world's hero?

Ginny's dark expression cleared, and a naughty smile lit up her features. "You'll never guess," she said, giggling.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and lifted her wine glass to her lips. "Go on then. Shock me."

"The most eligible bachelor in the United Kingdom is..." Ginny paused dramatically and tapped out a drum roll on the table top. She mimicked hitting a cymbal at the crescendo. "None other than your sexy, smarmy, git co-worker, Draco Lucius Malfoy!"

Hermione choked on her drink. Ruby-red wine spilt all over her peach-coloured silk blouse.

With an evil cackle, her friend magically cleaned Hermione's shirt with a wave of her wand, and threw her a napkin for her chin. "Come on, 'Mione, you can't be _that_ surprised! He's disgustingly rich, brilliant at his job, his family's name is cleared, and have you bothered to even _look_ at him since he grew out of those ferrety features? The guy's a walking wet dream! Last time I was in the Ministry, I stumbled cross him on my way to dad's office, and he smiled at me. I swear I almost creamed my knickers!"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Hermione gasped, astounded at her friend's lack of shame.

"Oh, no," Ginny countered. "You don't get to play the prude with me, Hermione Jean Granger! I snooped and saw that pair of handcuffs in your lingerie drawer the last time I stayed at your place. Don't tell me you use them on the job, especially when you've easily got a much more effective _Incarerous_ at your fingertips?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed with colour, but she miraculously managed to keep her composure. "I never kiss and tell," she answered primly. "It's uncouth to talk about your sex life in public."

"You fucked my brother in the middle of my parents' apple orchard – in broad daylight! How much more _uncouth _is that?"

"How in the bloody hell did you know about that?" Hermione shrieked. Her blush had reached epic proportions by now. "Did Ron tell you? He did, didn't he? I'll kill him!"

"Calm down woman! No, my big brother didn't tell me. He's not a tattler, either."

"Then _how_?"

Ginny's smirk could put Malfoy's to shame.

"It's open space, darling. And you are not a moaner, but a screamer. We just happened to take a walk near the orchard that afternoon when we heard you."

"_We_?" Hermione wanted to sink into her chair. Who else knew?

"Oh, yes." Ginny grinned wickedly. "I was with Harry, and we stumbled upon George and Charlie listening to you two go at it while hiding behind dad's shed. They were a fetching shade of red, the pair of them."

"Oh my God." Hermione hid her flaming face in her hands. "That explains why George wouldn't look me in the eye for a year afterwards!"

"And why Charlie took an unusual interest in you the moment he found out you and Ron broke things off," her friend added, cackling.

"OH MY GOD!"

"Now, now, there's no need for drama. Ιt's been forever."

"Easy for you to say! You weren't the one with your… _bits_... being ogled by your lover's siblings and your supposed best friends!"

Realizing Hermione was deeply distressed Ginny stopped teasing her and grasped one of her trembling hands. "Hey, calm down. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's really nothing to be ashamed of, though. So, you have a healthy sex life, big deal. You and Ron had been together for years at that point, and it was just a case of two people in love showing it. Good for you! And believe me you're not alone in the world when it comes to accidental voyeurs getting an eyeful. I've walked in on George, Percy, Bill, _and_ Charlie in far more compromising situations with their girlfriends and wives. The Burrow's just a sexy, little love hovel!" She wiggled her eyebrows to help lighten the mood.

Hermione blinked back tears, her mortification easing. Her friend was right, and she was making it into something bigger than it needed to be. With a trembling hand, she wiped her tears away and took a deep breath. "You're right. It's water under the bridge now. Thanks for telling me the truth, though, Gin. It's better to know than remain ignorant."

"No problem." Ginny smiled kindly. "Now tell me all about your upcoming hot date with Theodore Nott! He'd better be taking you somewhere with a French chef in the kitchen and a super expensive wine list!" 

***.*.*.*.***

"You look absolutely stunning," were Theodore Nott's first words when Hermione walked out of her apartment building's entrance towards him. "My heart's pounding just looking at you."

She felt her own heart beating fast… for daring to wear such a revealing cocktail dress! It was teal in colour – a daring shade for her to start, and it was backless. The beaded bodice in the front accentuated her cleavage, but was off-set by the modest tulle A-line skirt that fell to her knees. She'd paired the outfit with some high-heeled silver sandals that were strappy, showed off her ankles, and made her feel half a decade younger, and the only accessories she'd worn, were a pair of tiny silver earrings to go with the heels.

For the occasion, she'd put her long hair up into an elegant bun, and had kept her face make-up natural – with the exception of a bold red lipstick to show off what she thought of as her best physical attribute.

Hermione privately admitted she'd loved dressing up in anticipation of her date tonight with Theo. She didn't date very often anymore, so when the chance had come for her to try out 'Mister Number Three', she'd thought she'd give it a good attempt. Even better, though: not once had she thought about her work or Draco Malfoy all day (until just now), and that meant she _could_, eventually, let go of both obsessions when it was time.

"Thank you," she replied, smiling pleasantly and giving Theo the once-over. "You look quite debonair yourself."

And he did. In his elegant charcoal suit, crisp white Oxford shirt, and silk tie in various hues of blue (including teal), he matched her perfectly.

"Ready to go?" he asked, holding out his arm to her.

"I'd feel a bit less anxious if I knew where we were going," she stated, giving him a mock-stern look.

He smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

She might have accused him of filching that line from 'Jurassic Park', except she didn't believe perfectly pure-blood Theodore Nott had ever seen a Muggle movie in his life.

"I think you're giving me credit where credit _isn't_ due. Despite being sorted Gryffindor, I'm not _that_ into acts of spontaneity… and I don't usually take jokes at my expense well. Just ask George Weasley. I once punched him so hard I broke his nose, and all he did was jump at me from behind a suit of armor and shout, '_BOO!'._"

Theo's lips twitched, as if he'd taken her warning with a grain of salt. "Poor dumb bloke."

"Surprises aren't really my thing," she advised him.

"Ah, but I believe this one time you're going to love it."

Hermione eyed him speculatively before giving in. If he did anything to embarrass her, she'd filet him like a McDonald's fish burger. "Fine. Let's go." 

***.*.*.*.***

_****_

_"He took you to Rome. As in Italy."_

"Unless there's another Rome, then yes, the one in Italy," Hermione confirmed for her best girl friend.

_"Am I allowed to cheer?" _Ginny asked.

"Depends."

_"On _what_?"_ her friend asked.

"Where are you?"

_"My flat."_

"Are you alone?" Hermione inquired.

_"Yes."_

"Then cheer away," she offered.

Ginny's excited screams travelled through the phone to blast her eardrums into orbit.

Hermione laughed. It had been a lovely evening, indeed, and she inwardly shared in Ginny's enthusiasm.

Theo had been the perfect gentleman on their date, engaging her in meaningful conversation and actually listening to her opinions on various subjects without doing that thing that most men did: feigning interest in the hopes it would score him points towards getting in the woman's knickers later. He hadn't been overbearing or pushy for more at her door when he'd dropped her off for the night, either. In fact, he hadn't even attempted to kiss her lips while lingering on 'good-byes' on her front stoop, choosing instead to gallantly kiss the backs of her knuckles and hold her hand.

He _had_ given her a very masculine smirk though, one that promised future naughtiness if she dared to see him again. Strangely, Hermione hadn't felt a flicker of annoyance at Theo's wicked amusement – in other words, she hadn't wanted to react in the way she usually did whenever Malfoy levelled a similar look upon her. Rather, she'd felt tempted by Nott's challenging look, and had gone with a bold response of her own: she'd smirked back, and then winked at him over her shoulder when she shut the door in his face. She'd tossed him the gauntlet, daring him to pick it up.

True, Theodore Nott didn't make her feel even half of the raw, untamed lust Malfoy did, but the man certainly had potential. In fact, she could admit to the hope that one day, perhaps Theo could even be the man to completely eradicate her co-worker from her dreams.

She spent fifteen more minutes filling a squealing and panting Ginny in on the details of the date, before cutting the call off with a reminder that they both had to work on the morrow. She hung up with a promise of dinner the following evening.

Just as she'd turned down the sheets on her bed, someone knocked on her front door. Well, banged more like, as the rapping was loud and insistent. Confused that she would receive a visitor so late—it was past midnight on a weekday, for Godric's sake!—she picked up her wand, tightened the belt on her robe, and headed for a confrontation with her unexpected guest.

Abruptly, the banging stopped. Cautiously, she peeked through the peep hole.

There was no one on the other side.

Fully alarmed now, Hermione mentally checked her flat's wards. To her relief, they remained undisturbed. Whoever it was, at least they hadn't tried to enter her apartment.

A protective spell on the tip of her tongue, Hermione carefully unlocked her front door. She kept the safety chain in place as she slowly opened it and peeked around the edge. There was no one there, but there _was_ a small parcel lying on the floor against her door. It was the size of a ring box, bright green, and a card rested against it.

She closed the door, pulled the chain off, and opened it again. Crouching down, she cautiously picked up the card.

_I look forward to our battle, my Lioness._

It was unsigned, but Hermione had a nagging feeling she knew the identity of the mystery giver.

She grabbed the box and opened the lid. Her eyes widened, and a gasp left her lips as a tiny silver snake winked at her from inside, its tiny emerald eyes reflecting in the bright hallway lights.

The Serpent had struck again.


	9. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews!

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><em><strong>Chapter 8<strong>_  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

Hermione was so angry, she wanted to do some serious damage right then – maybe punch one Serpent-sized hole through the wall. Her second inclination was to curl up into a ball and cry her frustrations away. As she was no longer a teenager, however, such outbursts would not be considered appropriate methods for dealing with her current stress.

One had to maintain one's dignity and respectable reputation in the face of great adversity, after all.

Keeping that in mind, she did the next best thing: she made it explicitly clear to all and sundry that she was not to be disturbed unless someone died or Voldemort was resurrected again. Then, she glared and gave a scathing dress-down to the poor soul who made the mistake of knocking on her office door and disturbing her despite the warning.

By the time lunch came to an end, the whole Ministry knew not to bother her – not if they wanted to keep their heads attached to their bodies.

As the hours progressed, her mood didn't improve. In fact, it worsened. The reason was easy enough to fathom: this 'Serpent' case was making her feel like a failure already. Usually resourceful, self-sufficient, and competent when it came to taking on cases and solving them, this time she was feeling a little overwhelmed.

Her problem wasn't a lack of suspects. This time, she actually had too many – and no sure way to eliminate them from her lists.

The laws forbade her from simply forcing each and every suspect to drink Veritaserum without probable cause… which she did not have. A few days into it and there were still no valid leads to follow (and no, Mrs. Avery certainly _didn't _count). 'The Serpent' persisted on being as slippery and mysterious as his namesake, and his challenge remained unmet as a result.

Needless to say, Hermione was not used to being disappointed in her own lack of progress when it came to a case, and so she was decidedly irritated by it now.

Additionally, she was seriously disturbed by the fact that 'The Serpent' not only knew where she lived, but that the bastard had absolutely no reservations about paying her a personal visit. Evidently, the fear of getting caught had not been enough incentive to keep him out of mischief, and Hermione wondered if she should expect more 'gifts' from her adversary the longer he remained free.

Antony Goldstein, the only member of Dawlish's team still on the case (after Hermione had personally requested him), had come back empty-handed and completely baffled after a thorough investigation of her building and the traffic cameras on her street revealed no trace of how 'The Serpent' had gotten in or out of her apartment building.

Living in a strictly Muggle neighbourhood had never been an issue for her. It had always afforded her privacy from the wizarding press, and had been more convenient for her Muggle parents to visit. Still, she'd taken the rudimentary precaution of warding her flat against intruders of both the magical and mundane kind (hers was, in fact, the only one of the ten flats in the building with such protection). Bill Weasley, himself, had supervised the warding, and so Hermione knew she was safe from strangers and enemies (of course, being who she was, she still worried about the other tenants. Yet, as Harry had rightly pointed out, she could hardly petition the courts for special permission to place protective enchantments around a whole building of non-magical people without an emergency. It was, he reminded her, too much a risk to the International Statute of Secrecy).

The lack of proper security for the whole building though, had proven her instincts right in this case. Somehow, 'The Serpent' had managed to enter without detection. The cameras in her floor had been de-activated by, of all things, a simple Zapping Charm.

Poor Anthony had barely managed to duck the paperweight Hermione had thrown at him when he'd mentioned that fact in such an awe-struck tone.

"Of all the idiotic, moronic, asinine‒_"_ she began to rant.

"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine today," Malfoy commented, sauntering into her office without permission and clearly ignoring her warnings to the contrary.

Hermione would later blame the large amount of caffeine in her system, her fried nerves, and her lack of sleep for reacting the way she did in response.

So absorbed was she in her outburst, that the sound of Malfoy's sarcastic drawl made her violently tip her chair back onto two legs. Unable to catch her balance, she toppled over with it and spilt into an ungraceful heap on the floor. Her skirt rode up dangerously high on her thighs from the momentum, and her hair fell out of its loosely held chignon and flopped in fuzzy waves in front of her eyes.

"_Ow!"_ she complained, placing a hand under one sore hip and rubbing. The other hand pushed the errant strands of her hair out of her eyes so she could properly glare up at the cause of her great misfortune.

Malfoy stared down at her dishevelled form with an arched brow and lips twitching with amusement. Dressed in a well-tailored, navy-coloured suit with a white button-down shirt and navy silk tie he looked like a vanilla and blueberry lolly just aching for some oral attention. From her. And not in a shouting the roof down sort of way, but in the 'come here and let me lick you' tradition.

Hermione gave herself exactly ten seconds to admire him, noting that even though they were fast approaching the five o'clock quitting time, he _still_ managed to look fresh and insanely hot, as if he'd just showered and dressed for work. Was it something in the water at Malfoy Manor, or some amazing Glamour Charm? In all the years she'd known him, he'd never looked dishevelled (excepting, perhaps, during the war, when they'd all looked haggard and out of sorts).

Feeling her annoyance reignite—not only at the universe's unfairness (how could such a cocky, self-absorbed bastard look _that_ good? Where was the justice?), but also at herself for feeling the usual fire of attraction at his presence that had become the norm over the past few weeks—Hermione scowled.

The way his grey eyes shimmered in amusement at her glare only added to her bad mood.

"Can I help you?" she primly asked, getting her feet under her and smoothing down her skirt.

His eyes followed her movements, she noted, and a strange, aroused expression darkened his features at the sight of her exposed thighs. Hermione chose to ignore it. Men were known to get stiffies simply by seeing a woman in heels, and so she knew an accidental panty shot—even hers—would have elicited a similar reaction.

The fact was Malfoy didn't lust over her like she did him.

"You certainly can help me, Granger. That is, if you're done making a fool out of yourself."

See, no attraction for her on his end.

Big surprise there.

His smirk shouldn't have been such a turn-on for her, though, especially after she'd just been insulted by those same lips she was now helplessly staring at.

_Draco Malfoy is a pompous arse and I will NOT_ _find him attractive!_

_Yeah, right. You can't help but want to free his willy and ride it to glory._

_Oh, shut up!_

Again, taking the high road, Hermione ignored his ribbing (with a quick mental reminder that murdering him would be a hindrance to her career).

_Remember that!_

Indifferently, she motioned for him to take a seat before she lifted her own chair up off the floor and repositioned it. She then sat in it, thankful for the large desk between them. "Just tell me what you want, Malfoy," she murmured, sorting through her papers and pointedly not looking at him. "As you can see, I'm quite busy."

"Evidently."

He sounded miffed at her cool disinterest, and that pleased her. _Evidently,_ Draco Malfoy was not used to being treated like a nuisance.

Rolling her eyes, her hands stilled when she lifted a familiar card. The tiny words written on it in green ink taunted her.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?" she asked, running her fingernail over the crisp surface of the card. It was of good quality stock, and the penmanship was refined.

"Did your thief really send you a gift?"

"Hmmm…" she absently replied, re-reading the card.

_I look forward to our battle, my Lioness._

Her mystery thief referred to her as 'his'. As if she were his possession, his to own… almost like a romantic proclamation of intent and a challenge all in one.

A challenge…

"_Have you guessed my name yet, by the way?"_

"Theo," she whispered, wondering if there was any connection between her date and the odd gift that had been left on her doorstep that same night. Had the timing of those two events just been coincidence…?

A sudden, unexpected shiver ran down her spine, and Hermione straightened, her every instinct going on red alert.

Her eyes flashed to Malfoy, who sat quietly across from her, drumming his fingers on his chair's arm rest. He was watching her with a cold, measuring stare, and she got the impression that he was not happy with her for some reason.

One thing was certain: he knew about the figurine. She didn't know how, but she always listened to her feminine intuition, and right now, it was screaming at her that Malfoy knew she'd been visited by their perp and that she'd received something from him.

"How did you‒?"

"Granger, Granger, Granger." He tut-tutted, and she felt her face flush in indignation at his condescending tone. "Need I remind you that I'm the prosecutor handling this case? Any information regarding it falls into my lap sooner rather than later."

"That's interesting," she archly replied, tapping her chin with a finger, "because I'd swear prosecutors deal with a case only _after _an arrest has been made. 'The Serpent's' case is an on-going investigation, so I don't see why or how you could be privy to any information on it. I think I need to have a word with Harry about confidentiality."

Malfoy's smile widened, and his eyes literally sparkled with mirth. "My, my, you really don't like me, do you, Granger?"

Hermione's heart pounded in her ears and her face flushed.

_If only you knew…_

"My personal feelings have no effect on my work," she maintained the lie, "and I'd hope the same would apply to you. Even if I'd hated you—and just so we're clear, I _don't—_I would still work with you. I'm a professional, and I'd thank you to keep that in mind the next time you consider implying differently."

"Then why are you not cooperating with me?" He spread his hands wide, silently demanding an explanation. "As you know, I've been working this case since the beginning, because Merlin knows, John Dawlish was an idiot of epic proportions. I know the details of the file like the back of my hand. Then you come along, and you just happen to receive a vital piece of information that just might crack the case wide open, and I have to hear about it through the grapevine! Are we partners on this project, or not, Granger?"

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair, careful to keep all four of its feet on the ground, however. "We both have roles to play, Malfoy. Mine is to catch him, yours is to make sure you convince the courts that he's our man and that the hammer of justice needs to come down on him. So, when I have 'The Serpent' detained, you'll have everything you'll need in the form of evidence to put him away for a long time. And, for the record, I know you've worked hard on this case. God knows, your notes were far more helpful than John's, but you are neither an Auror, nor a member of my team, not to mention‒"

She abruptly stopped, and bit her lip. Mentally, she cursed herself for almost letting it slip that her partner was one of her suspects.

Malfoy titled his head to the side, a soft wisp of platinum blond hair landing on his forehead with the movement.

Hermione's hands itched to push it back into place… and then to run her fingers through that baby-fine, soft hair. Instead, she curled her fingers into tight fists and hid them under her desk.

"Not to mention, what? What were you about to say, Granger?"

"Nothing... Look, I really need to get back to work."

"I'm a suspect, aren't I?"

Hermione made a strangled sound, her eyes wide as they flew to his amused ones.

"Come now," he chided, face set in stone, his smirk chilling. "It's fairly obvious, if you put together the clues. The way the perp knows his way around the Manors, how the wards never stopped him, recognising him. It's blindingly obvious he is on good terms with all the victims. Given their beliefs, he must have at least a connection to Voldemort as well. It all leads directly to my door, doesn't it?" He stared at her through a flat, serpentine gaze. "I knew you wouldn't take long to come to the same conclusion. You are, after all, the brightest witch of our generation, or so I've heard."

Her face felt hot, and Hermione felt guilt clogging her throat. It somehow seemed all the worse that Malfoy was taking it in stride, as if he didn't mind her thinking the worst of him.

"Malfoy–"

"Don't go all soft on me now, Granger." He halted her with a raised hand. "If you're about to apologise, _don't_. I don't judge you for the obvious deduction. Merlin knows you have no reason to trust me given our past history, and even if you did, you are still obliged to consider me a suspect until proven otherwise."

An uncomfortable silence ensued. For the first time in their long, shared history, they didn't have a thing to say to the other.

A knock on her office door made Hermione jump. She cursed under her breath for being so startled.

"Enter," she gruffily barked.

A young girl, dressed in a bright pink and white uniform, walked in carrying an enormous crystal vase overflowing with three-dozen, long-stemmed red roses. "Delivery for Ms. Granger," the girl chirped, her smile showing a nice row of pearly whites.

"Er, t-thank you," Hermione stammered, taken aback. She stood, came around her pedestal desk, took the vase from the girl's hands and placed it on her work surface, then signed the delivery receipt.

"There's a card, too," the girl giggled before taking her leave.

Curious, Hermione picked up the card and flipped it open.

_**Hope you enjoyed our date last night. I can say with absolute certainty that I did. Any chance I can entice you into accompanying me to a fancy, yet utterly boring dinner party this Saturday night? I need you there to keep me sane. **_

_**Please accept! **_

_**Yours,**_  
><em><strong>Theo<strong>_

An unexpected smile stretched across Hermione's lips, and she immediately made a mental note to ring Ginny later to ask if she could borrow a dress. Besides, who better to help her get ready for date number two with most eligible man number three than her most fashionable best girl friend?

Absorbed as she was with her thoughts, Hermione had completely forgotten that Malfoy was sitting behind her. He'd remained unusually silent from the moment the delivery girl walked into the office, but after catching a peek of the card over her shoulder, he was back to his old tricks in no time.

"I can see 'The Serpent' is not the only snake after you," he snarked, his tone a tad bitter. "I can't say Theo is the better man, though. He always was a pussy-hound."

Anger flaring in her chest at his crude words, Hermione span around on her heels, determined to give him a piece of her mind. Her words died on her lips though when she realised he had moved and was now standing directly in front of her. Only a few, short inches separated their bodies. It was the closest they'd ever stood to each other.

Hermione had trouble swallowing.

Sweet Merlin, she could feel his hot breath on her lips! And this close, she could count the pale freckles that dusted the bridge of his nose – nearly invisible until you were standing a hair's breadth away from him.

Making a quick mental note to slap herself silly for finding this infuriating man so unbearably attractive, Hermione forcibly turned away. She struggled to regain her composure for only a second before returning his sneer with one of her own.

"Theo is a good man, and a perfect gentleman," she informed her co-worker. "I won't have you insulting him in my presence. If you have a problem, be a man and take it up with him. And please refrain from reading and commenting on my _private _correspondence." Her eyes were every bit as furious as his were then as she realised he'd baited her fantastically – _again_. "Now, if you're finished acting like a world-class prick, Malfoy, please take yourself from my office. I have a case to get back to."


	10. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Chapter Note: **_la vedova nera _= Italian for 'the Black Widow', which is slang for a woman known to kill her lovers. 

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><em><strong>Chapter <strong>__**9**_  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"And he left? Just like that?" Ginny asked.

"What other choice did he have?" Hermione replied. "I wasn't about to deal with him when he was acting like a complete git."

"It's such a shame though! Malfoy is one hot piece of‒"

"Looks aren't everything, Gin."

Hermione grinned at her frowning friend, throwing the red strip of cloth mistakenly labelled a dress back on the rack. The two witches were at Twilfitt and Tatting's in search of an appropriate dress for Theo's dinner party-slash-business meeting.

The purpose of the dinner party had finally been revealed to her after much note passing (poor owls!): Theo wanted to buy a particular painting from Blaise Zabini's mother—a woman infamous for her dubious morals and for the fact that all seven of her husbands had all disappeared or died under mysterious circumstances, conveniently leaving her a very wealthy witch. Theo wanted to pay cash for the picture, not exchange it for sexual and political favours, as Mrs. Zabini desired (he'd literally gagged when he'd told her that at his last private meeting with the widow, Fiona Zabini had shown up in sexy lingerie, but practically dry humped him against her office door).

Basically, the fifty-something-year-old witch had apparently had her eye on the third most eligible bachelor in England for quite some time now, and Theo needed Hermione to act as both a justification for his disinterest in the older woman and as a physical barrier to Mrs. Zabini's unwanted advances (in case _la vedova nera _decided to get grabby).

Hermione found the whole situation hilarious, actually. Poor Theo had seemed terrified of being alone with his former Housemate's mum after the events in her office, but it was clear he really wanted that painting. Driven to desperation, he'd resorted to pleading with Hermione, flashing those pretty baby blues of his at her in an attempt to convince her to help him out. She'd caved, of course, a sucker for his fluttering lashes and promises of making it up to her later.

She had definite ideas as to how he could do exactly that, too.

"You do realise you're now officially dating one of the hottest and most sought-after wizards in the country?" Ginny stated.

"And I didn't even pursue him," Hermione reminded her. "Theo was the one who did all the chasing. I can assure you, however, that his popularity had nothing to do with why I accepted. I like him. He's fun and… a little mysterious."

Ginny snorted. "Still, if Malfoy's personality wasn't so atrocious, I'd think him the better match for you," her friend said. "You two have always had a twisted simmering under the surface for each other, and the guy has literally everything else you want in a man: looks, intelligence, influence, money, ambition. Too bad he's such a git."

Hermione shrugged, trying to play off how Ginny's words stirred up something strange and fluttery inside her chest. "If I had to be absolutely honest, he's not so bad," she admitted. "Yes, he acts like a complete arsehat on occasion, but he's an interesting enough character to get a pass on the worst of his flaws. Besides, you know how much I like great hair, good fashion sense, and an appreciation for expensive gifting – all of Malfoy's best attributes."

Ginny looked at her with a narrowed, suspicious gaze.

Flustered that she may have revealed too much, Hermione turned her attention back to the clothing rack before her. "What do you think of this dress?" 

***.*.*.*.***

Ginny let pass Hermione's obvious attempt to change the subject… this time.

Privately, she thought her friend and Malfoy would make an excellent couple, as both had volatile personalities, were stubborn, clever, cunning, sarcastic, and not to mention the sexual tension between them was enough to suffocate whatever room they shared. Too bad Hermione was too blinded by their negative past to realise the truth. Either that or she was in complete denial.

As for Malfoy... well, Ginny had a few theories about his actions and general behaviour toward her brunette friend. Last year, for instance, she'd accidentally run into him at St. Mungo's while going for her annual physical exam (the league required it of all Quidditch players before a season began). Malfoy had been there to accompany a friend of his, a member of the Falcons who'd been there for the same reason as Ginny, when an unconscious, bloodied Hermione had been rushed in through the emergency entrance. Apparently, she'd been injured in a raid.

Needless to say, Ginny hadn't known it was possible for the pale Malfoy heir to appear translucent until just that moment. He had taken one look at Hermione and had become as washed-out as a ghost. His concerned eyes had then followed Hermione's inert body as frantic Healers rushed her through the double-doors leading into the emergency services area. Just as Ginny was moving off to follow, worried about Hermione, too, she could have sworn she'd heard him ask a passing Medi-witch behind her if there was something he could do to help Hermione.

A man like Malfoy didn't help others unless there was something in it for him… or because he cared.

It's not as if she could tell her friend that, though. Hermione seemed a bit taken with Theodore Nott at the moment, and she wouldn't upset that apple cart. If Malfoy really wanted Hermione, he'd make his move soon anyway, because there was nothing as motivating as jealousy.

She should know.

"So, tell me," Ginny led, kept her tone casual, knowing that a cornered Hermione tended to react badly, "do you know who else is going to attend this dinner party, aside from you, Mister Sexy Pants, and the pushy widow?"

"I would assume Blaise," Hermione said, lifting a dress from the rack and putting it against her body in consideration. "It _is_ his mother's party after all. Ron told me he's dating Daphne Greengrass, so she'll probably be there as well. Maybe Malfoy, too. From what I hear, he's still friends with Blaise, so he must have been invited. As for the rest, I have no idea. I'm only doing this as a favour for Theo." She frowned. "Merlin knows this won't be at all fun – trapped in a house with nothing but Slytherins for company."

"A 'favour', hmmm? Is that what Muggles call it?" Ginny insinuated, snickering.

"Hush, you!" her friend chastised.

Laughing loudly, Ginny picked an indecently short, black dress. It had a high neckline, but was almost completely backless (it fell at least to the sway of the spine). She presented it to her more conservative friend with a grin. "This one, definitely."

As expected, Hermione took one look at the dress, paled, and shook her head. "No, absolutely not. There's no way I'm wearing such a‒"

"Sexy, fuck-me dress. Yes, you are." She gave Hermione a sinister grin. "This dress is guaranteed to ruin Fiona Zabini's plans one way or the other, thus scoring points with your date. Further, you're going to show that room full of slippery snakes just how bold and beautiful Gryffindor women truly are. You're representing the pride of our House at that dinner, so you'd better make a lasting impression for all of us!"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ginny cut her off with a firm look, thrusting the dress out at her friend.

"You _are_ going to try this on, Hermione Jean Granger, or so help me, I'll sneak into your house when you're asleep and burn all your clothes so you'll have no option but to wear this piece."

One way or another, Ginny was determined to see her friend settled with either Theodore Nott or Draco Malfoy, and this dress was the perfect enticement for at least one of them to make their move.

***.*.*.*.***

A short glaring and hissing match ensued between Hermione and Ginny over the trying on of the dress, with Hermione eventually giving in after feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

With a huff, she grabbed the garment from her friend's hand and stomped towards an empty dressing room. "I'm only trying it on to shut you up," she called over her shoulder, loud enough to be heard over Ginny's excited squeals.

Changing quickly, she couldn't help but sigh in pleasure at the feel of the silk against her naked skin. The hem came to the middle of her thighs, and made her legs look amazingly long. And the back… Merlin, it was the most daring thing she'd ever worn! Just an inch shorter back there and the dress would be too indecent to wear in public!

Quickly, she shucked her sensible, cotton knickers so as not to spoil the effect, and took another look in the mirror, glancing over her shoulder. The bra would have to go, too. She undid the hooks, pulled off the dress sleeves, removed the bra and tossed it aside, then shimmied back into the dress. Much better.

Wow. This dress was definitely going to require going without lingerie. As there were no built-in cups for the top, though, it would be a situation of needing breast lift tape for support, and a pair of classy, tasteful nipple pasties to prevent a "your high beams are on" situation, if a draft blew past.

Having committed to trying it on, she felt it only fair to give Ginny the full fashion show, so with a decisive nod, she quickly and expertly waved her wand towards her feet, murmuring the incantation to transfigure her shoes into appropriate footwear for such a sensual piece. Satisfied with the results, she walked out of the dressing room to do a little cat walk action.

"Well, I've tried it on. It's lovely, but don't get your hopes up, Gin. I'm still not wearing this to Theo's dinner." She glanced down at herself. "I do admit it looks good, though."

"We are in agreement, then."

The dreadfully familiar deep voice caused Hermione to stumble, and her heart started hammering under her ribcage.

_Please, God, no. Not him, not now._

Slowly, as if hoping he'd disappear before she could fully look up, she lifted her eyes from the ground.

Ginny stood off to the side, her lips pinched together tightly in an attempt to stifle a laugh. Her friend had her arms crossed and a self-satisfied gleam in her eye.

Steeling herself, Hermione looked past her traitorous friend (who she planned to torture later for taking pleasure in her panic) to where __he__was. For some reason, she always seemed to know exactly where _Malfoy_ was in a room.

Their eyes connected... and her jaw promptly hit the floor.

_Dear Merlin._

Malfoy was dressed all in black, head to toe: black cargo pants, black shirt, black dragon-hide boots, and a black leather jacket. His hair, rather than slicked back and styled to perfection as it usually was, was free of product today, pulled back in a low ponytail, and the shorter strands were tucked behind his ears. He looked casual… and more touchable.

Infinitely more touchable.

Hermione's belly quivered, her palms suddenly felt sweaty, and her mouth was obnoxiously dry as she took in his full measure. Damn him, he looked edible! She had to stifle the urge to grab his black, leather belt and pull him into her abandoned dressing room, to lock them up inside and not to let him leave until she was thoroughly shagged up against the mirror (just like what he'd done to Greengrass)... and then she'd Apparate them back to her flat for more.

Hermione's breath caught when she once again locked eyes with him. His usually passive, grey eyes were now a molten-silver, and they ran boldly the length of her body with masculine approval.

She wondered what he was thinking, and then chastised herself for caring. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. To her relief, her voice was strong, and not the breathy whimper she'd feared it would be.

Malfoy casually shoved his hands in his pockets and titled his head to the side. "My mother had need of a set of new dress robes, and as I had nothing better to do, I agreed to accompany her on her outing." 

***.*.*.*.***

On a date with his mum. How sweet!

"How chivalrous of you," Ginny muttered, watching him watch her friend.

Yeah, he wanted to bone Hermione but good. No question. Too bad her friend refused to see it. 

***.*.*.*.***

"Indeed," Malfoy answered Ginny, giving Hermione's friend a sly smirk. "Some people might even say it's the mark of a–" He glanced sideways at Hermione with a wicked gleam in his eye. "–perfect gentleman."

Hermione bristled, as he threw her words about Theo back in her face.

She broke eye contact, not only irritated with him again, but finding his intense stare uncomfortable. "Well, then don't let us keep you," she said with a polite smile that she knew didn't reach her eyes.

Rather than taking her hint, the arrogant man had the audacity to close the distance separating him from her and use his greater height to loom over her and get a good look down the front of her dress.

As he towered over her more petite frame, standing close enough for the heat of his body to be felt, even though the layers of their clothing, Hermione felt decidedly dizzy.

It was his clean, masculine scent. It pervaded her nose and filled her up with lust.

"Nervous?" he asked. His voice was trained low and husky, meant only for her ears.

A shiver of awareness ran down Hermione's spine. She was mortified to feel herself getting wet.

"No," she answered (a bit too breathily), her eyes trained on his lips.

_Look away!_

His own mouth parted and his breath came faster. "Liar," he softly accused.

God, his face was dangerously close now! Too close!

Hermione licked her lips, preparing to launch into a scathing rejoinder, but hesitating as his hands came out his pockets and an attractive blush appeared on his cheeks.

Merlin, she needed him to touch her, to take her, like she'd seen him take Astoria – hard and fast, thrusting with power into her. She needed him to–

"Draco, dearest!"

Mrs. Malfoy's voice was like a bucket of ice cold water dousing her. Shaken, she dropped her eyes and stepped back, the moment lost.

With a soft curse, Draco straightened and moved far enough to the side to make it clear that nothing untoward was happening. He glared at his beaming, completely clueless mother as the woman came into the back of the store towards the fitting rooms to find him.

Hermione's breathing was fast and shallow and she felt slightly faint from her almost-encounter.

Ginny suddenly appeared at her side, inconspicuously placing her body in a way that allowed Hermione to lean against her without making it too obvious she was being supported by her friend. Her bestie squeezed her shoulder in silent encouragement, and Hermione knew she was in for a round of questioning later, but at that moment, she didn't mind the idea of a grand inquisition in her near future. In fact, she thought she'd do anything the ginger-haired beauty wanted—even wear this accursed dress—simply out of pure gratitude for Ginny's show of loyalty. 

***.*.*.*.***

After the scene Ginny had witnessed there was no question in her mind: Malfoy and 'Mione needed to stock up on birth control potions ASAP.

Goodness, her best girlfriend had all but forgotten where she was or even the fact she'd had an audience (of one, but still...)! She'd nearly jumped Draco on the spot!

And he hadn't looked at all unaffected by the blatant lust her friend had been levelling his way, either.

Godric, did Theodore Nott even stand a chance? 

***.*.*.*.***

Fervently praying the two Malfoys would leave soon, Hermione softly murmured to Ginny that they'd talk at her place later.

"Sure," Gin replied, her cheeks red and her smile bright. "I'm dying for the details."

Feck.

"Granger."

Startled, she looked over at her co-worker. Hadn't he left yet?

The bastard looked totally unaffected, she noticed, irritated by that fact. Had she really expected any less, though? Having a woman practically panting after him was, most likely, a common occurrence in the life of 'Mister Number One'.

What annoyed her more, however, was the fact that she could now be counted among such women. It disgusted her on some level, because she'd been one to mock such desperate witches before, especially whenever a spread came out in the rags about his eligibility status, and it was accompanied by page after page of pictures showing him attending various functions with a slew of dates – and never the same one twice. Now she was one of _them_, too: a woman desperate for his attention.

The thought made her positively ill.

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger what a pleasant surprise!"

Hermione's jaw nearly hit the floor at Narcissa Malfoy's sincerely joyous greeting. The witch was smiling at her and Ginny.

She turned to look at her girlfriend; Ginny was as astonished as Hermione, it seemed. Her eyes were showing entirely too much white, and her ginger eyebrows were hanging somewhere in her hairline.

Deciding it was best to play along, Hermione elbowed Ginny to snap out of it (and to keep the woman from mistakenly thinking Malfoy's mum was talking to someone else), cleared her throat, and plastered a polite smile on her face. "Mrs. Malfoy, it's a pleasure to see you again. How have you been?"

"Oh, please call me Narcissa, my dear," Mrs. Malfoy tutted with a friendly smile. "Mrs. Malfoy makes me feel so old!"

The woman's eye was twitching. In card-playing terms, she was 'showing her tell'.

So, she wasn't as pleased to see Hermione or Ginny as she pretended. She certainly faked it well, though.

Hermione put forth her own poker face, very much used to it after working in the Ministry for so long. "Of course, Narcissa. Please, call me Hermione."

"Certainly." Malfoy's mum stated. She clapped her hands together as if to signify a deal had just been struck between them.

Hermione didn't even flinch at the loud noise.

Ginny jumped.

Draco coughed to hide a laugh.

Narcissa feigned not noticing, although Hermione now believed the woman missed nothing.

Her shrewd blue gaze took in Hermione from head to toe. "Oh, please allow me to say you look simply ravishing, dear. This dress was certainly made for you. It flatters your lovely figure and is very sophisticated."

"Thank you," Hermione politely replied, chancing a glance at her co-worker.

Malfoys hands were back in his pockets, and he had turned away from the discussion, seemingly distracted by a suit on display nearby. Like his mother, though, Hermione knew he was well aware of everything going on around him.

_Bastard, leaving me to deal with your mother, while you slink in the background!_

"Do you think it's an appropriate gown for Mrs. Zabini's dinner party?" Ginny smoothly cut in, evidently over her shock.

Hermione scowled at her friend's impudent smirk at her.

Narcissa looked her over again, this time with greater interest. "Indeed. It is elegant and sexy, perfect for a young woman. Although, the shoes... I think a pair of ankle boots will better compliment your dress, don't you agree Ms. Weasley?"

"Please call me, Ginny. And, yes, I absolutely agree." Winking at a spluttering Hermione, she boldly took Narcissa's elbow. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me find dear 'Mione the perfect pair of shoes."

"Of course! She'll need a clutch, as well."

"And accessories!"

The two women continued their conversation as they made their way back towards the front of the store, leaving behind a fuming Hermione.

_Traitorous friend! Sidling up to the enemy!_

A chuckle cut through her thoughts, and with alarm she realised she was again alone with Draco. Without looking at him, determined not to let him affect her this time, she folded her arms in a protective gesture in front of her, creating a barrier between her and him.

"Is your mother always like that? Because, I seem to recall a time back when I was a child that your mother wasn't so... accepting... of shopping in a place that sold goods to Muggle-borns."

"She's only like this around people she likes."

Hermione frowned and looked to the side and up at him. Malfoy was smiling.

Not smirking. _Smiling._

She tried to ignore the thought that he wore the look well. "She barely knows me. Not to mention, there's the whole thing about my Muggle heritage."

"What can I say, Granger? You're a very likeable person."

His 'likeable' sounded too close to 'lickable' to her ears.

"As for your blood status, that stopped mattering to her after... everything. The war changed her, too."

"No, I'm really _not _likeable," she argued, feeling uncomfortable with that part of his assessment. "I'm bossy, overbearing, difficult, and stubborn. Too stubborn, my mother insists. Not to mention I know I have a need to _always _be right, and that I'm a sore loser. Just ask Harry–"

"You sound like you've given your character flaws a lot of thought," He quietly observed.

"I have."

"Well, then, let me tell you something: you are wrong, Granger."

She glared at him. "I'm not wrong. I think I know myself better than you ever could."

He held up a hand to waylay her argument. "I didn't say you were wrong about your personal observations, although how you down you are on yourself... perhaps that's a conversation for another time. You're wrong in believing that because you have flaws, that somehow makes you an unlikeable person. Yes, you're stubborn, and difficult, and sometimes impossible to get along with–"

"Gee, thanks."

He put a finger against her lips, silencing her. "Do_ not _interrupt me. Yes, you are everything you said, _but_ you are also fair-minded, incredibly kind, and immensely intelligent, you always do the right thing no matter the consequences to yourself, you never back down, even if things seem impossible, you're dependable, loyal, and you never deny a person your help, even if they are your enemy. You are a _good_ person, Hermione Granger, inside and out. Everyone knows it, too... so why don't you?"

Hermione was speechless. Her face felt hot and her heart throbbed in her throat. Despite the tears that burned her eyes, she was unable to turn away from Malfoy's gentle gaze.

His finger lightly traced the flesh of her lips, and softly traced the bow and corners of her mouth. His eyes followed the movement, and his head tilted, leaned towards her...

"Draco," she whispered, slowly rising on tiptoe to meet his descending mouth.

"_DRACO!"_

The eager shout broke the spell, and Hermione and Malfoy both sharply turned toward the source of the commotion.

Hermione paled as she recognised Astoria Greengrass standing at the clothier's entrance, looking jaw-dropping sexy in a mini-skirt, lace shirt that left little to the imagination, and a pair of short black boots. She waved at Malfoy from the doorway, before gracefully crossing the shop to reach him (her hips, Hermione noted, swayed provocatively to and fro).

When she reached Malfoy, Greengrass latched onto his arm with a flirty, yet possessive hold. "Just the man I was searching for!" She leaned her body provocatively against Malfoy's and traced a perfectly-manicured finger down his smooth cheek. "You forgot your shirt at my place last night, love."

Hermione saw red and took several steps back from Malfoy.

Astoria's coy laughter suddenly stopped when she noticed Hermione. The witch's viper-green eyes narrowed with displeasure. "What are _you _doing here, Granger? And what are you _wearing?_"

"Tori, behave," Malfoy scolded his ex-secretary-secret-lover (or whatever she was to him now).

_He sounds so calm_, she thought, bitter jealously burning a hole of her stomach.

"What?" Astoria screeched. "This ugly cow got me fired, and you ask me to behave?"

Malfoy had nothing to say to that.

Hermione cursed her own naivety for believing he would have actually cut Greengrass out of his life after the nasty confrontation in her office, and worse, for allowing herself to believe he might feel something for her after all. Why should he, when he had Greengrass—a perfect pure-blood princess—available at his beck and call, no strings attached?

She'd been so stupid.

Turning on her heel, Hermione headed back into the dressing room and changed out of the dress, carefully returning it to its proper place once she was back in her familiar, more comfortable clothes.

She couldn't leave without a parting shot. She was too angry to let Astoria get away with calling her a 'cow'.

"For the record, Greengrass, I didn't get you fired," she snarled, adjusting her bag on her shoulder in preparation of leaving the store. "You did that all by yourself by acting like a spoilt brat who wrongly believes she can do as she pleases and will never be accountable for her actions. It's not my fault your parents forgot to teach you that foolish actions have justified repercussions. Nor is my fault that your only use in the Ministry seemed to have been to conveniently spread your legs for Malfoy whenever he'd needed a stress-relieving fuck. So you can stop blaming _me_ for your short comings." She looked the other woman up and down, giving her the most scathing look in her arsenal. "And please, get some self-respect."

Resisting the temptation to look at Malfoy, she made her way towards the door and walked out of the shop with her head held high.


	11. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **The first part of the chapter – a dream – is too sexually explicit for the site's rules. I had to cut it out completely; I couldn't find the right way to rewrite it smut-free, so you can find the full chapter in my live journal – link in my profile. If you still think this chapter is too explicit, let me know and I'll edit it.

*Even though I originally planned to only update two times this week, due to chapter 9 and 10's length, I will post another chapter this Sunday.

Due to some real life issues, mainly work/school related, there's a strong possibility that I won't be able to post anything until early October. If I get lucky it might be sooner, but I can't promise anything.

So sorry in advance for the lack of updates. Hope this, and the next chapter, will be enough to hold you until I'm back.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter <em>****_10_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"_DRACO!" _

Hermione woke up with a gasp, breath coming in short pants. Her knickers uncomfortably stuck to her lower lips, which were soaked with her arousal. Cursing, she shoved the blankets off in an attempt to cool down.

What the fuck was _that_? It felt so real!

She groaned into her pillow as she turned onto her belly, trying to ignore her body's screaming needs. Merlin, her breasts were achy and her nipples were hard points under her thin sleep shirt! Her clit throbbed, too, sending shards of tingling pleasure through her womb whenever her knickers pressed against her a little too roughly. Her inner thighs were wet with sweat.

Grudgingly, she flipped back over and trailed a hand down her body, following the same path __his__hand had followed in her dream. Tracing her slit through the cotton of her panties made her shiver; her inner muscles clenched in anticipation.

Knowing resistance was futile, and tortured by her burning body, Hermione shoved her hand inside her underwear and immediately found her hard nub. It only took a minute of stroking over it before she exploded in climax.

For the last several weeks, ever since that day she had caught Malfoy fucking his assistant against the wall, her co-worker had haunted her dreams and tormented her senses. This latest sleep-jaunt had actually been rather tame compared to some of the others she'd had.

Although she always thoroughly enjoyed herself in her night time fantasies, the morning after was a completely different matter – shame consumed her then.

Lately, her day life was also being consumed with imaginations of _him. They _invaded her consciousness whenever she caught sight of his platinum hair or when someone mentioned his name.

This obsession she was nurturing for Malfoy was becoming ridiculous. She was tired of waking up on the edge of a blinding orgasm and with lingering memories of the way his imagined tongue felt between her thighs. She was sick of having to endure their work-related meetings with damp knickers. She spent as much time now attempting to maintain her composure around him as she did working on 'The Serpent's' case at his side.

Mostly, she hated the deep disappointment in her chest knowing that none of it was real or reciprocated.

Why, oh why, couldn't she have a strong, fiery desire for Theodore Nott? He was good-looking, genuinely nice (he did have his Slytherin moments, though), and most importantly, he was _interested_ in _her__._ If her dirty mind had fixated on him, she wouldn't be suffering, for it was obvious that Theo was physically attracted to her, so getting him in bed wouldn't be a difficult challenge.

But _no,_ she had to go and develop a sexual obsession with the least suitable wizard in the universe – the man she had to work in close proximity with on the biggest case of her career. _Witch Weekly's_ Number One Sexy Smiler.

Groaning in disgust, Hermione refused to resign herself to eternally unsatisfied lust. Tonight was Fiona Zabini's dinner party, and if she played her cards right, she wouldn't return home alone. Maybe a night of hot, freaky circus sex with her dark-haired date would help her to get over her attraction for her co-worker.

Maybe after tonight, she'd stop picturing Malfoy naked, and wonder what he really sounded like when he came...

_Shower, I need a shower. Pronto. Before I Floo to his place and shag him senseless._

***.*.*.*.***

After a cold shower, Hermione called Ginny for some girl-bonding time (and to come help her with her make-up and hair, as Beauty Charms were not her forte, and Gin was fabulous at fashion advice).

Her BFF arrived after lunch, carrying a large canvas bag filled with beauty potions and products, and proceeded to give Hermione a total make-over. Unfortunately, her insecurities reared their ugly head and she internally balked at putting on the gorgeous dress Ginny had picked out the other day (and sneakily bought for her after Hermione had left).

Her girlfriend reminded her that she was dressing to impress Theo tonight, and wisely advised her to concentrate on that and to forget all about Malfoy. So, Hermione put her best foot forward, repeating the mantra in her head that she intended on knocking Theodore Nott for a six tonight.

Hermione's confidence rose when her date appeared at her door. As his appreciative eyes trailed her figure from head to toe, they darkened to a deep ocean blue, especially when he saw her sexy black peep-toe ankle boots Narcissa had picked out for her the other day and had the store deliver them to her door the same night.

Theo was a foot man, apparently.

Her lips twitched when she turned her back to him to grab her coat and heard his sharp intake of breath. The elegant up-do Ginny had twisted her hair into left the daring cut of the dress backing completely exposed, but Hermione didn't feel embarrassed when she felt Theo's eyes following the curve of her spine as she walked to her hall closet. No, for the first time all week, what she felt was immense satisfaction.

On their ride to the impressive Zabini estate just outside of London, the conversation was somewhat stilted as her date answered her questions with one word answers, clearly unable to form coherent sentences. If it wasn't for the fact that his jaw was tight and his hands were gripping his cushiony seat with white-knuckled force, Hermione might have feared he was either indifferent to her charms or seeking a quick escape from the magical carriage. However, his expression was of a man ravenous to have at her, and so her doubts were dispelled.

To have a gorgeous, desirable man like Theodore Nott lusting after her was flattering, and Hermione felt confident that tonight she wouldn't be alone in her bed. Her womb fluttered in response to such naughty deliberations, and her mind immediately conjured up images that would have made her blush on any other occasion.

Sitting across from her, and as if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Theo shifted. He crossed his legs and pulled his coat closed in an obvious attempt to hide his erection from her.

Hermione inwardly smirked.

"So, tell me, who else is going to be there?" she asked, smiling coyly as his reflection in the door glass.

"Oh, you know," he began, clearing his throat and attempting a casual, unaffected facade. "The usual busy-bodies: Blaise, of course, with his girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass. Hyacinth Parkinson and her delightful daughter, Pansy, will be there as well. Perhaps a few family friends of Mrs. Zabini – members of her elite social circle, I'm sure."

Hermione mentally noted every guest would probably be a pure-blood, then. Would she be the only Muggle-born in attendance?

Probably.

Did she care?

Not one iota. She knew how to hold her own against pure-blood prejudice.

***.*.*.*.***

It was truly amazing what power and fame did to influence people's attitudes and behaviour, especially towards someone they'd previously treated as not better than a filthy animal.

Hermione was the centre of attention at Mrs. Zabini's party from the minute she walked into the woman's opulent drawing room (with its ancient oak doors carved with a series of bas-reliefs and its Baroque-style furniture and art a throw-back to the by-gone Renaissance era, when the aristocracy thrived). The hostess was entertaining her guests in the grand room off the dining area with apéritif-cocktails until the meal was announced ready, and Hermione and Theo were the last to arrive.

'_Perhaps a few family friends'_ were in actuality more than a dozen pure-bloods, some she knew personally as they had frequent business with the Ministry. Some she had even recently interviewed for 'The Serpent's' case, in fact. Most of the gathering was completely unfamiliar to her, however, and that made her a bit nervous.

She might not know the small throng of guests, but apparently they knew of her, and as a group, wasted no time in stepping forward to make her acquaintance.

It was obvious from the get-go (from the exaggerated fawning) that these people were hoping to earn her political favour. It seemed they'd all read Skeeter's article and had noted her near-future positioning within the DMLE. They were also clearly aware of her friendship with Harry and the Minister. With hidden, internal amusement, she watched and listened as they vied for her attention with extravagant flattery and a heaping of hearty congratulations on her appointment, all of the 'unknowns' clamouring over each other to make a good first impression upon her.

_What hypocrites_, she privately thought, smiling in appreciation when Theo offered her a flute of champagne. _One minute they wish me dead, and the next they are kissing my arse._ To her mind, the lot were as manipulative as she'd come to expect from pure-blood socialites.

One or two guests, however, didn't participate in the ridiculous spectacle. There was no missing the sneer on Pansy Parkinson's face when her date for the evening, a Mr. Donahue, bowed low over the back of Hermione's hand in greeting and complimented her on her stylish dress.

Thankfully, that confrontation was cut short when dinner was abruptly announced.

As she turned to go into the dining room on Theo's arm, she noted from her peripheral vision that her host, Fiona Zabini, was directing a venomous glare her way. The older, attractive woman was holding her Champagne flute so tightly Hermione half expected it to shatter into pieces in her hand.

Theo's reminder of the woman's attempts to seduce him again made her laugh. Apparently, Fiona didn't appreciate the object of her current fascination showing up with a date, especially one lauded by her friends as being beautiful and talented.

Hermione leaned into Theo and whispered a quick warning that Mrs. Zabini might not sell him the painting simply out of spite for his bringing her to the dinner tonight.

Her date shrugged. "If she expects me to fall into bed with her for the bloody thing, she's clearly delusional. I'm no gigolo."

That was the last they spoke on the issue as Theo escorted them to their assigned seats around the table.

That didn't mean it was over, though.

During dinner, Hermione was seated to the right of the hostess, in a place of honour at the head of the table. As the meal progressed, she began to understand just how Mrs. Zabini planned to make Theo pay for his trespass of bringing another woman to her soiree: by embarrassing his date.

The witch shamelessly flirted with Theo all through dinner, her words and actions veiled with sexual innuendo. Theo had no choice but to answer the woman's every inquiry, but did so by keeping a level head and a weary, watchful eye on Hermione's reactions, she noted.

For her part, Hermione smiled politely and focussed on her dinner; she didn't pay much attention to what she was consuming, but every course was done perfectly and tasted heavenly.

A nudge of her foot under the table caused her to almost spill a spoonful of lobster bisque into her lap. She glanced across at her date, who had been seated opposite her per the rules of society dining. Clearly, he'd been culprit of the game of footsy as a way of getting her attention.

Currently, Theo was giving a tight, polite smile to Fiona, who was leaning so close to him she might as well crawl into his lap. Her breasts provocatively spilled over the top of her bodice, and her answering smile aggressively sexual.

Realising he needed her help, Hermione focussed on his quiet conversation with the lady of the house, tuning out the rest of the background noise. What she heard astounded her.

"My apologies Mrs. Zabini‒"

"How many times must I ask you to call me Fiona, my darling Theo? There's no need for formalities between good friends."

She spoke with a girlish purr in her voice, as might to a young lover.

Theo's hand tightened on his fork. "As I was saying," he continued, clearly ignoring her attempt to seduce him, "I cannot join you for dinner tomorrow night. I have business to attend in my gallery. We are hosting an exhibition soon, and my manager is new. If you wish to discuss my monetary offer for the painting, you should drop by my solicitor's office next Monday. He deals with all of my financial matters and, as he has a writ of attorney's privilege regarding my estate, can negotiate the sales terms and a bank transfer with you."

Fiona placed a hand on Theo's sleeve, her fingers running over the fine, woollen material of his formal dining jacket. "Oh, but I detest solicitors! They are so cold and impersonal! If tomorrow you're not available, my darling, then perhaps we should discuss the formalities of the sale tonight… say, after my guests leave?"

_If that was not the world's most blatant invitation for sex, I don't know what would be, _Hermione thought with dry amusement_. _

"I'm sure we could find a carriage to take your… date… back to her hovel," Mrs. Zabini continued with a negligent wave of her hand in Hermione's direction, oblivious to the fact her conversation was being eavesdropped upon by said date. "You needn't concern yourself with the woman's safety, if that's the only deterrent to us making this… _sale_." Her steely emphasis on the last word made the implication clear: if Theo didn't ditch Hermione and spend the night with the woman, there would be no deal between them.

Theo looked pale and a bit distressed by the witch's threat, so Hermione decided it was time to put the old, rotten skag in her place.

"I'm afraid that's quite out of the question, Mrs. Zabini," she stated in a polite tone while lifting her water glass. "You see, Theo promised to take me home tonight. We have a…_special christening_… to attend to back at my home."

A total lie, but worth the small bruise to her reputation with the appearance of Fiona Zabini's disapproving frown.

"I see."

"Indeed. I have a long, exciting night planned for us after the party." She glanced across the table and gave Theo a sultry smile. "No rest for the wicked, yes, my love?"

Theo played along, lifting his glass of wine in a toast to her. "I will endeavour to greet the sunrise at your side, my sweet."

Fiona's eyes spat fire and her smile was all teeth. "How nice for you both. Although, I dare say, I hadn't read any posted banns about your forthcoming marriage."

She was, of course, implying that sex before matrimony was a serious social _faux pas_.

Hermione tittered in the way of a simpering socialite. "Oh, well, Theo and I don't hold to such _old_ fashioned customs," she said, stressing the word 'old' to remind Mrs. Zabini of her hatred of the concept. "When we marry, we've both agreed to elope. A destination wedding is all the rage with the younger generations, you know. And, of course, I plan to continue working after. I'm far too young to retire." _Rub, rub, rub._ She leaned towards Mrs. Zabini as if to impart a secret. "I realise it may be a bit too progressive in some circles, but I actually enjoy working for my own money rather than acquiring it via… other means."

_Like offing rich husbands._

An anger crease wrinkled Mrs. Zabini's brow. Hermione took extreme delight in that.

Theo's expression never faltered at her lies where he was concerned. Instead, he cheekily blew her a kiss across the table. "Where you lead, I will follow, love." He winked at her.

Hermione sighed in exaggerated happiness. "He's so _perfect,_ isn't he, Mrs. Zabini? I'm the luckiest woman in the world!"

***.*.*.*.***

_If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under, _Hermione thought with a snicker as she washed her hands in the loo's sink.

Before coffee, she'd excused herself to visit the bathroom (which had proved to be bigger than her entire bedroom – and it was only a _guest_ bathroom). By then, she'd felt she'd made her point to Fiona Zabini, who had seemed to retreat in a sulky huff, and had assumed Theo would be safe enough to be left unchaperoned for a bit.

She hoped.

If she returned and found the witch perched on Theo's knee, she'd have to bring out the big guns for dealing with her. Never mind the fact she really didn't have deeper feelings for Theo; it had become a point of pride at this point.

Drying her hands, Hermione checked her appearance in the vanity mirror over the sink. Her make-up was still perfectly applied but some wisps of her hair had escaped their confines and framed her face. She fixed them, reapplied her lipstick, and checked the back of her dress for appropriateness before going out to face the rabid bitch in heat that was determinedly after her date.

As she'd feared, Fiona hadn't pouted about her loss for long. Instead of being deterred by the fact that Theo had a woman he was (supposedly) head over arse for, she seemed to have taken his (exaggerated) off-the-market status as a challenge and had doubled her efforts to steal him away. A clever minx, however, she'd made sure to keep up the pretence of a business conversation, artfully dropping double _entendres_ throughout pudding, and even (according to Theo later) going as far as to caress his calf with her bare foot, having slipped off her shoe to inch her icky toes up his trouser leg. Throughout it all, she'd maintained a coy smile on her lips, watching for Theo's reaction through heavy-lidded eyes.

Merlin, the woman was truly shameless!

Nothing Hermione said or did after that had an impact on Mrs. Zabini's hounding of Theo. The woman seemed resolved to get him into her bed, whether he wanted to be there or not.

When she glanced down the table towards the opposite end, she caught Blaise Zabini's eye. To her surprise, he didn't look appalled by his mother's blatant and inappropriate display of lust, rather he appeared resigned –and a little amused at his friend's expense, too.

Disgusted by Slytherin politics, Hermione spent the rest of the dessert course attempting to distract Mrs. Zabini with chatter about the (garish, vulgar, out-moded) décor around them. The more she tossed out veiled insults, however, the more aggressive Fiona's interest in Theo became, as if she were resolved to winning the game she was playing.

By the time they were withdrawing to the game room to enjoy port and cigars, and perhaps a few parlour games, Hermione needed to go some place quiet to calm her anger. She chose the women's again, and headed into the loo, while the others headed towards the library down the hall.

A Cooling Charm and a place to regain perspective did wonders to help her regain her centre. Ten minutes was all it took before she was ready to throw herself back into the fight.

She exited the bathroom… and stopped on a Sickle, instantly aware that the layout of the house had changed. Instead of exiting onto the side hall, where she'd come in, she was in a completely different wing of the house. She knew it was still the Zabini Manor by the hideous ornamentation all around, but it was clear she had gone in one door and come out another.

As there was no clear indication by the vastness of the hallway stretching to either side of her, and no sounds of the party carried to where she was, she believed she might even be on a separate floor from the others.

When she called for the Zabini house-elf who had originally shown her the loo the first time, he didn't reappear. Further, a _Point Me_ spell proved useless, as her wand did nothing but spin around in a circle in her hand.

Clearly the mistress of the house was using Slytherin tricks to keep Hermione from her date, believing her chances of winning Theo's attentions would be improved if she kept Hermione away for an extended period of time. By default, Hermione would also look like a fool if she were to summon someone to help her back.

Gritting her teeth at the woman's inventiveness, she tried asking a nearby portrait for help.

"The formal dining room? What are you doing here, then?" an elderly, olive-skinned man asked. He was wearing an Italian Renaissance doublet that had gone out of style in the sixteenth century. "You're on the third floor of the house, near the old wet nurse's quarters."

She'd been let out on at the servant's hall – right where, she was sure, Fiona Zabini thought she belonged.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. What an absolute bitch her hostess was. She couldn't wait for this infernal party to be over. "I just came out of the bathroom. I'm not familiar with the house."

The man rubbed his bushy chin. "Hmm, seems Mistress Fiona is up to her usual tricks again. Have you done something to anger her, milady?"

"If coming here as the date of a man she wishes to bed counts, then that would be a definite 'yes'."

"Ah, jealously! An ugly emotion." He sagely nodded. A twinkle of amusement appeared in his dark eyes. "Fiona is not used to vying for any man's attentions, and if your lad ignored her for you, you have most certainly earned her ire."

"She has no one to blame but herself for his loathing of her. She's an absolutely horrid woman," she stated.

"I agree. However, the fact is Mistress Fiona will never accept that any man doesn't desire her. She's an incredibly vain and foolish woman – but also extremely clever and vicious. Beware of her, milady." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, getting down to business. "Now to return from whence you came, follow this hall down to the end, turn left, climb down the first flight of stairs you'll find, go right, and you'll find yourself in the dining room once more."

"Thank you, sir. You've been most charitable."

"You're quite welcome, milady. _Buona Fortuna_!"

As she made her way down the hall, a soft '_thud' _came from somewhere ahead, behind one of the closed doors. She paused, visually verifying that she was alone in the corridor.

There was definitely no one else around.

Her Auror training kicked in, and her senses snapped to full alert. Keeping her back to the wall, she stealthily moved down the hall, keeping her ears and eyes open.

There_... _Another soft '_thud' _sounded from a room down the hall, as if a heavy object had fallen onto thick carpeting. Hesitating, Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. If it was an intruder, she would truss them up like a Christmas turkey and leave them for Mrs. Zabini to handle.

_It's probably nothing_, she reassured herself_. Old, creepy, tastelessly-decorated houses made noises all the time_.

She gripped the cold, gilded doorknob and slowly began turning it. It made a loud 'click' and Hermione flinched. Hell. Why hadn't she remembered to use a Muffling Charm on the door in advance?

Too late now to worry about it.

Pushing open the door, she ducked behind the jamb and peeked around it into the room. It was an office, but it looked like it hadn't an occupant for a long time. The desk was devoid of any object, the chair carefully placed behind it. French doors led to a balcony opposite her, and the heavy curtain was drawn across it. Slivers of moonlight managed to sneak through the cracks, though, and dimly illuminate the dark room.

Bookshelves lined the walls behind the desk, and her keen eyes found a thick tome lying face down nearby on the room's Persian carpet.

Sighing softly, she shook her head. _A book! _She had been ready to bring down the lightning for a silly book! Annoyed, she crossed the room, bent over and picked up the book. As she straightened herself, she also straightened the book's cover.

Blast it all, but she was going to give Fiona Zabini a piece of her mind for causing her all this trouble!

She felt the magical shifts in energy around her as a spell being cast. Before she saw the blue light from her peripheral vision, she tensed to dive to the side. Too late, she was caught by its power. The book tumbled from her hands as her arms and legs snapped in tight to her body, and she toppled over, unable to prevent her fall.

A Petrify spell.

In her head, Hermione was swearing up a storm.

Face pressed into the plush carpet (at least the spell prevented any damage from the fall… she might have broken her nose otherwise!), she heard her assailant approach, his steps muted, but unmistakably coming closer.

Fear clawed at her heart. How long had she been gone? Surely, Theo had noticed her absence by now? Surely, he'd know to call the cavalry, given their hostess had made it clear that she'd had it in for his date? Surely, he wouldn't be so foolish as to allow himself to be distracted by that repulsive hag?

It really wouldn't matter a flip if someone didn't come to save her within the next ten seconds anyway, as her attacker was surely raising his wand now to cast the killing curse. And she could do nothing aside from lay there and wait for her death… with her indecent dress bunched up around her hips and flashing most, if not all, of her naked bum to the world.

She could really kick herself now for ignoring Mad-Eye Moody's number one rule. The man had definitely been onto something there with that whole, 'constant vigilance!' thing.

Hermione felt her eyes burn, but so long as she was Petrified, she wouldn't be able to cry away her mortification.

Gloved hands grasped her arms with far more gentleness than she'd anticipated, and the next thing she knew, she was turned over onto her back.

Face frozen into what was, she was sure, a ridiculous, wide-eyed expression, she found herself staring up into a pair of amused light-coloured eyes (were they blue or grey or a pale green? It was hard to tell in this light).

'The Serpent' matched his description perfectly, though: face mostly covered by a black mask that stretched over his head, hiding his hair away as well, and wearing tight black clothing from head to toe. Pale, pink, very kissable-looking lips stretched into a teasing smile.

"Well, well, look what the Kneazle dragged in," he whispered in a husky, deep voice. "A pretty kitty for me to play with."

He ran a single, leather-clad finger down the side of her face, gently tracing the contours of her jawline.

"A _very_ pretty kitty, indeed. Must be my lucky night."

An electric shiver shot down her spine as he moved his finger along the side of her throat, teasing her pulse point, and Hermione was horrified to realise her sex-starved body was reacting to his touch.

Merlin, Mrs. Avery had been right, hadn't she? This perp moved and breathed sexiness.

A war was going on in her head just then. To shag or not to shag, that was the question.

"My Lioness," her thief murmured. His tone was possessive and filled with heat, and there was no question that he was declaring her _his_. "Finally we meet. Did you like your present?"

Oh, yes. Definitely to shag.


	12. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><em>Chapter 1<em>_1_  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"That bastard! He _touched_ me! I'll kill him, I swear I will. How dare he fondle me like some sort of... some sort of _tart_!" Granger fumed. She flung her hands in the air as she manically paced back and forth, burning a hole in the rug beneath her feet. "I hate men! Pigs, the lot! The whole gender should be shot and hung out for the ravens!"

Theo turned to his friend, who sat opposite him in one of the antique armchairs that decorated the Zabini's opulent Drawing Room. "Do you think she even remembers we're still here?" he whispered, careful not to attract Hermione's attention.

Draco shrugged, clearly doing his best not to look too amused. Forty minutes ago, when the guy had foolishly chuckled over Granger's claim that she'd been molested by 'The Serpent' while Petrified, the violent harpy had lunged at him, intent upon repeatedly knocking his head against the wall. He'd been forced to give her a time-out, using a Pushing Hex to sit her arse in the corner and a Sticking Charm to make it stay there. She hadn't taken it well, needless to say, shrieking like the Bandon Banshee in response. Only when he'd threatened to leave her there permanently had she shut her mouth and silently fumed, but the lesson had been learned: Hermione Granger was dangerous when angry.

It had been Theo who had finally cast the _Finite Incantatum_, by the way. He wasn't sure he was ever getting the hearing back in his right ear, though.

***.*.*.*.***

Draco leaned a shoulder against the marble fireplace and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, watching his co-worker.

Bloody Hades, Granger was always so tense and angry. _Everything_ irritated her. Clearly, she needed to get laid. He figured at the rate she was going, if she didn't get some satisfaction between her legs soon, her head would pop and the brightly-coloured confetti of her thoughts would fly everywhere, filling the room.

The thought made him chuckle... behind his face. Outwardly, he kept his expression bland, as he didn't relish a matching pair of black eyes, thanks.

_Vicious hussy!_

"Maybe in the back of her mind Hermione knows she has an audience, but she doesn't give a rat's arse?" Theo postulated, his eyes following her gerbil-like scuttling back and forth.

His friend was clearly smitten, but then, Theo had always gone stiff for the rare bird that was both feisty and moral—the complete opposite of the majority of gals in their social circle, in other words—so no surprise there.

"Honestly, I think she's just too focussed on plotting 'The Serpent's' murder to care about us," Potter replied, adjusting his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose in a move that was clearly less corrective action and more nervous tick. He, too, watched Granger with a gaze that was not in the least bit platonic, Draco noted, and he was clearly jealous of Theo.

Draco filed that bit of information away in his brain for future use.

Despite the intense attention paid to her by the three most eligible men in Britain (according to the inane sensationalists), Hermione gave the men surrounding her no thought. Her mind was clearly filled with 'The Serpent'.

_Good_, he thought, attempting to keep his smile under wraps. She needed to be focussing more on her job, and less on the romantic interests in her life anyway. 

***.*.*.*.***

That annoying thief had taken great pleasure in having her completely at his mercy tonight!

Hermione could scream at the memory of how helpless she'd felt as she'd laid there, Petrified and vulnerable, and how exposed she'd been. He'd seen her naked arse, for Circe's sake!

At least he hadn't molested her, not really. He'd kept his touching to a minimum and then only to caress over appropriate spots, like her cheeks, her throat, her hair, and her jaw – as if he were curious about her, rather than attempting to sexually harass.

His eyes, though... they hadn't been so innocent, she reminded herself. They'd travelled the length of her body with heated admiration. And his words... _"I like your dress,"_ he'd admitted with a naughty smirk, and she knew he'd meant the back. Merlin, the man was an evil sod! He'd made her wet with his voice alone, and that _despite_ the spell upon her.

Git.

Thankfully, the approaching footsteps from outside the door had interrupted whatever plans he'd had for her (though she suspected they wouldn't have been as forward and bodice-ripping as a part of her had secretly hoped). The imminent discovery by others had, however, spurred him on towards committing an even graver sin upon her... one she wouldn't soon forget.

She traced her mouth with a fingernail, allowing herself a few seconds to remember the warmth that had touched them, but then _tsked_ at her own foolishness. "He's a fucking arsehole thief and pervert," she cursed under her breath in reminder, ignoring the way her lips continued to tingle at the memory of 'The Serpent's' kiss. It had been only a quick pull of lips, and then he'd been up and casually jumping off the balcony – right as a frantic Theo had blown open the door with a forceful _Alohamora _and barged into the room (followed closely by a clearly distraught Fiona Zabini, who looked more put out by the fact that Hermione had not been harmed than anything else).

Once she'd been freed of the Petrify spell, she'd immediately sent her Patronus to Harry with the message that 'The Serpent' had struck at the Zabini family estate, and calling for all hands on deck. Within ten minutes her whole team had shown up.

She'd immediately sent them all to task to find any trace of their perp, determined to nail the S.O.B. for humiliating her, if nothing else. 

***.*.*.*.***

His Hermione was really something – a natural born leader and a woman to get things done.

The first Aurors on scene had already been moving at her instruction by the time Harry had stepped out of the Zabini's fireplace, every man and woman assigned a task, some to investigate the scene, others to keep the party guests from getting in the way and contaminating evidence. When she spoke, everyone listened. When she expected something, everyone bent over backwards to get it done. She was used to perfection, and expected everyone around her to exceed her expectations, and with her take-charge attitude and her ability to motivate, she invariably got what she wanted.

Not for the first time, Harry thought his best friend would make a darn fine Minister. She was a political animal, crafty and smart and very strong-willed.

Which was why, he was reminded again, a long-term relationship could never have worked between her and Ron.

Sure, she needed someone with a little more of a laid-back manner to help her relax and to make her laugh on occasion, as Ron was and did, and yes, there was no doubt that she and Ron had really loved each other. However, Hermione was an ambitious woman who liked a fight and needed the fire in her life, and Ron was a man who had always wanted an easy, comfortable relationship with a woman.

Hermione was meant for greatness. The position of the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was just the beginning.

Ron was thinking of giving up the Auror gig to go work with his brother in the joke shop because it was a more fun thing to do and he was tired of politics.

Wasn't meant to be, clearly.

Harry, on the other hand, had the qualities Hermione would need in a husband: he was stable, politically strong and connected, a supportive friend, laid-back at home but passionate in bed (he'd been told), loyal, he knew how to have fun, he could keep up with Hermione in a conversation (most of the time), _and_ he was independently wealthy, so he could afford to keep them in style, if that's what she wanted.

The only things holding them back were his reticence and bad timing.

He almost regretted giving her 'The Serpent's' case. Almost.

Jealously flared when, from the corner of his eye, he noticed Theodore Nott watching her as well. Harry was reminded once again that Hermione had come to this party tonight as his date. The way she looked...

Merlin, her dress was enough to drive a man insane!

He wondered if it was the reason for 'The Serpent's' sudden interest in her, too.

***.*.*.*.***

Granger was still growling like some kind of irritated kitten. It was cute, although Draco would never tell her that.

"Hermione, stop the self-flagellating," Theo finally said with an exasperated sigh, stomping through the eggshells that everyone else had tiptoed across. "You had no idea 'The Serpent' would strike here tonight, so none of this is your fault."

"But it is," she argued, stubbornly crossing her arms across her chest. The act inadvertently shoved her breasts together, lifting them and giving everyone present a nice cleavage shot. Of course, Granger was completely unaware as to how her gesture affected the men present, too wrapped up in her day-for-the-day to notice.

Well, if Theo could brave the waters... Draco cleared his throat, and she turned her head in his direction. Her gaze shot daggers at him, warning him not to say anything stupid.

"You couldn't possibly know he'd strike tonight, Granger, as it breaks his established pattern. To date, he's only entered houses in the middle of the night when its occupants are sure to be either out or asleep. This time, he struck a house that was full of people."

"They were distracted," she reminded him.

"But present and awake, and actively moving around," Draco insisted, "and therefore a possible threat to his discovery. Maybe you should consider it from that angle. What would make him want to take a bigger risk at getting caught?"

He watched the shadows and lines on her face shift and the fire of a challenge, rather than that of anger, return to her eyes, and knew he'd just scored a point in his favour. Finally.

***.*.*.*.***

"Malfoy's right," Anthony Goldstein piped in. Her team's Charms expert came in from the balcony, looking puzzled.

Preparing for bad news, Hermione took a seat in an unoccupied armchair. "What did you find?" she wearily asked. It was getting late, and all the excitement and alcohol from dinner was making her tired.

Anthony's gaze shifted to the only non-DMLE member in the room—Theo—with undisguised mistrust, and he clamped his lips together in a firm line.

He was right not to blurt out investigation secrets in the presence of a civilian, of course he was, but Hermione was tired and cranky and in no mood. She wanted to go home and take a hot shower to wash away the night's frustrations, and then fall asleep even as her head hit the mattress. "Honestly," she muttered and stood up. Addressing Anthony, she asked "are you done here?"

"Yes," he answered. It was the most she knew she'd get out of him with the present company surrounding her.

"Fine. Let the rest of the team finish, and meet me in my office in five minutes for debriefing and brainstorming. Pass the word."

"Will do," Goldstein assured her, and moved off to start informing the rest of her key staff of the shift in venue. It was time to bid _arrivederci_ to the Zabini household. 

***.*.*.*.***

Despite protests from Theo and Harry about her needing rest, Hermione curtly informed them this was her job, and she was a grown woman not in need of babysitting. So, curtly bidding them both 'good-night' (and nodding the same to Malfoy), she Floo'd to her office and immediately removed her shoes with a relieved groan.

Heels were flattering, but a pain to wear for long periods of time.

Busy rubbing her sore sole, she snapped at Anthony to shut the door, ward the room, and to sit down when the tall man arrived.

"Well?" she demanded, wanting his report first, as he was the senior-most member of the team aside, having worked previously with Dawlish on the case (Malfoy was their prosecuting attorney, not a member of their in-field policing force, so in her mind, he didn't count as 'part of the team').

Anthony leaned back in his chair, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's insane," he murmured. "Blaise Zabini was most accommodating and provided us with a full report on his estates wards, and as we expected they were undisturbed. Our guy is either a family friend, or was invited tonight."

"The guest list–"

"–is in Kevin Entwhistle's current possession. He and Laura Madley are interviewing the guests, to make sure none were suspiciously missing at the time of your attack, and Jack Sloper and Megan Jones are interviewing the only person on the non-attendee's list."

"A gate-crasher? Who?" she asked.

"Draco Malfoy," he replied, apparently none too happy about revealing that fact. Hermione guessed it was because he and Draco were known friends, having worked together on Dawlish's team, too. Not to mention Malfoy had dealt with most of Anthony's cases as a prosecutor.

Hermione remained silent in the face of that implication.

Draco's presence at the party tonight was not damning evidence... despite the fact everyone knew (thanks to Lavender Brown, gossip queen of The Pink Column in _The Daily Prophet_) that Blaise and Draco's friendship had been rocky since the war.

Hell.

"What else?" she asked, her intuition telling her Anthony had more information to spill.

Taking a deep breath, Anthony held his hands up in supplication. "Please remember I'm only the messenger. Do not shoot me. I'm engaged."

Now he had her attention. She sat forward in her chair and waited for it.

Slowly, as if afraid she'd attack him if he made any sudden moves (was she really that much of a rabid creature?!), he retrieved a small box from his inner robe pocket and placed it on her desk.

She knew that box.

Snatching it up, she opened it. The tiny snake figurine winked at her cockily from its satin bed.

Hermione vowed to give 'The Serpent' a black eye when she caught him. And maybe a bloody lip, too, just for good measure.

"That's not everything, is it?" she asked without looking up, sensing Anthony's hesitation. "The figurine is not new, you wouldn't be so reluctant to tell me about it if there wasn't something different this time."

"Yes." He placed a card on her desk. "This was left beside it."

Carefully picking up the card, a feeling of nervousness settled in Hermione's stomach. The one and only time 'The Serpent' had left a note was when he'd paid her a visit.

Hands steady, she unfolded the parchment... and felt her insides burn when she read the short message, written in the same expensive green ink he'd used before.

_Did you enjoy our first meeting as much as I did, my Lioness?_  
><em>Looking forward to matching wits with you again soon.<em>  
><em>P.S. Wear something green next time.<em>

That son of a bitch had known he was going to run into her tonight. He'd planned it!

...Which meant he knew about her date with Theo and being invited to the Zabini's party.

..And now the riddle of the strange spell work on the loo made sense, too: he was the one who'd magically spelled her up to the third floor, not Fiona Zabini.

It all came together. 'The Serpent' had arranged for them to meet in person not to steal some priceless Muggle artefact at all tonight, but to steal a kiss from her Muggle-born lips!

***.*.*.*.***

Harry demanded Hermione accept a team of Hit-Wizards as protection, and when she'd adamantly refused, he'd begged her to come stay at his place until 'The Serpent' was caught.

"He's clearly obsessed with you," he argued, hands grasping hers. "Who knows what he'll do next time?"

"He'll do nothing, Harry! Don't you see it. He's messing with me! He wants me to feel threatened so I'll make a mistake or give up the case entirely! He has no interest in me, other than making sure I don't catch him!"

"He came to your home!" her best friend snapped, eyes spitting fire behind his spectacles. "He calls you 'my Lioness', and every word he addresses to you drips with possessiveness. You said he'd spent precious minutes he could have used to get away touching you. He didn't erase your memory of him. He left you a personal message, telling you he plans to meet you again, and even telling you how to dress for that occasion! It sounds to me as if he's pretty interested in you personally, 'Mione."

Hermione roughly pulled her hands back, and crossed them over her chest.

"He's trying to intimidate me and shake up my confidence. That's all this is. He knows this is my last investigation, thanks to Skeeter's article, and that it will, undoubtedly generate a lot of press for him and this bizarre crusade he's on. As a narcissist, and clearly gets off on that kind of attention. He also enjoys playing games and taking chances. Who better to match his wits, as he stated in the letter, than me – a woman with an undefeated record for hauling in criminals? If he can beat me by keeping me from solving his case and arresting him before I decide to move on, he'll have put a black mark on my record, on this division's reputation, and on the Minister's leadership." She ran a hand through her curly hair, pushing it off her face. "Perhaps that's his ultimate goal here – to embarrass Kingsley, and you and I are just the doodles and cartoons in the middle, as they say."

"He never showed any interest in Dawlish or the investigation, until you took over," Harry darkly reminded her.

Hermione laughed and waved him off. "Of course he didn't show any interest then! Who would worry about Dawlish solving the case?" She held a hand up to stop him from countering her. "Stop worrying about me, Harry. I'll be fine. I held my own against Bellatrix Lestrange, so I think I can handle one freak wearing all black again."

Harry didn't feel reassured. His hands refused to relax. They were balled up tight into fists that rested on the tops of his thighs. And his jaw was tight, his mouth a firm line across his face. He could feel the tension in him building, much as it had that final year of the war, when a raging Ron had left him and Hermione in the lurch, and every day had seemed bleaker and bleaker.

How could he convince her that although he found her a competent and powerful witch in her own right, there was a part of him that would _always_ want to protect her?

Hermione's expression softened, as she sensed and observed his frustration over her rejection. One of her delicate, ink-stained fingers reached out to stroke down his temple, following the line of his jaw. "I'm fine. Promise."

His eyes closed and he leaned into her hand, his breath hitching. "I can't... I can't lose you, Mione. You are too important to me. I don't want you hurt."

"No one is going to hurt me, Harry. 'The Serpent' is a crook, yes, but he's not a rapist or a murderer. He has never physically harmed any of his victims, and that level of aggression doesn't fit his profile. He thinks himself the Robin Hood-type, not a Hannibal Lector. But if it makes you feel better, the moment I feel frightened by something he does, I'll pack up and come stay with you. Deal?"

He covered her hand with his own, pressing her palm to his cheek and gently holding it there. A small smile curled his lips.

"Thank you."

***.*.*.*.***

After her conversation with Harry, Hermione had tried to do some work, but her mind was filled with memories of 'The Serpent'.

She prided herself on being a professional. She knew every detail about a criminal's activities, no matter how minuscule, were important in determining his motives and potential victims. Yet, for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to admit to anyone, especially Harry, what 'The Serpent' had done to her before jumping off that balcony. Their kiss just seemed too private a thing to share.

Besides, if her overprotective friend knew the truth, he'd have her moved in to his flat before she could so much as utter the word, '_Lumos_'. He'd also assign a bunch of unknown Hit-Wizards to tail her every step until she either went insane and killed them all, or 'The Serpent' was caught.

The curtailing of her personal freedom—not to mention the possibility of being removed from the case entirely, if the higher-ups decided 'The Serpent's' obsession with her to be borderline dangerous—were things she would never allow. This case was hers. She intended on leaving the Auror Division with a flawless criminal arrest record, no matter what it cost.

***.*.*.*.***

_Hermione's breath caught in her throat when the footsteps came closer. ___

_The shadow of a man was suddenly looming over her. It was him... 'The Serpent'. ___

_His enchanting light eyes—were they blue, or light green, or grey? Why couldn't she tell?—took her in where she lay, languishing over her more feminine parts, before finally pausing at her mouth. "It seems our time has come to an end," he said, sighing despondently. "I'd hoped for longer, but..." He glanced over his shoulder at the door, where the sounds of others approaching was growing louder. ___

_For some unfathomable reason, she thought he sounded truly disappointed. How absurd!___

_His leather clad fingers gripped her chin, and his face lowered until they were an inch apart. Her tummy fluttered, and her heart leaped at the feel of his cool breath caressing her lips. Merlin, she could practically taste him!___

_"I will see you again soon," he promised her. His jaw was tight with tension and his eyes hard with resolution. "Wait for me, my sweet Lioness."___

_He dropped that last inch and claimed her lips. His mouth was soft, yet possessive as he gently nipped her lower lip, and then laved at it with his moist tongue. In the back of her mind, Hermione had a fleeting thought that she shouldn't enjoy his attentions as much as she was. ___

_A sound of frustration left his lips when he failed to part her lips due to her Petrified state. Pulling away, his breathing was irregular and he looked flustered.___

_"Soon."___

_His promise made her quiver.___

_She was equally shocked and ashamed to realise, that it was not fear at his words that made her insides tremble.__No, it was_ anticipation.

***.*.*.*.***

The daydream faded, but the memory of 'The Serpent's' soft, pliable lips on hers sent a shot of arousal straight to her core. Her whole body flushed hot, went wet.

God, this was bad. She was suddenly shaking from head to toe with the need to get fucked, as if sex was a drug and like an addict, she needed a fix. What was wrong with her? Was this what happened when a woman's biological clock began ticking? It was too early for something like that to begin for her... wasn't it?

The truth was, ever since she'd watched Draco Malfoy shagging that slag ex-secretary of his in his office, she'd been constantly thinking about sex and she was masturbating sometimes three times a day now (when and if she could find a private, quite moment and could lock her office door). It was becoming pathetic.

Well, given the state she was in, she was certainly not getting any more work done right now. She needed a food and coffee break, and a respite from the paperwork. Abruptly standing up, she shoved her papers in the top drawer of her desk, spelled it shut, and grabbed her bag.

As she made her way to the Ministry cafeteria, she inward snarled. How could she feel attracted to a low-life, scum _criminal_? Because she was, and there was no denying it. She could lie all she wanted to Harry about that fact, but in her heart, Hermione knew she could never lie to herself. His obvious interest in her was flattering, instead of creeping her out, as it should, and her body tightened at the mere thought of his sexy, low voice, his gentle hands, and his satiny, warm lips.

_I need a holiday! Once this case is done, I'm going away!_ She thought. She needed to get 'The Serpent' (and Malfoy and Theo and every other man on the planet) out of her system, or she risked losing her mind. A foreign beach with a gorgeous foreign man would do wonders, she believed.

Her route took her directly past Malfoy's office. She hoped the blond arse was not loitering outside of his office as he was prone on do, as today of all days, she needed her head clear. Malfoy's tendency to rile her up, not to mention the way he affected her body, too, was not something she needed right then.

Luckily, no one else was in the corridor right that second, or in his outer office, where visitors were greeted and told to wait, and she breathed a sigh of relief... before realising someone** should** have been there.

Like, his secretary.

Similar to her predecessor, Rose Zeller was a gorgeous witch, and it was clear the first time Hermione had come down to speak with Malfoy and had met Astoria's replacement that the woman was utterly besotted with her new boss. In recent days, Hermione had felt annoyance flare within whenever she'd passed his office and caught a glance of the man himself sitting on the edge of Rose's desk, flirting with the strawberry blonde.

Unconsciously slowing her steps, she paused at the outer office door and listened for any abnormal noises coming from within. Thankfully, most people seemed to be at lunch, so as she crept forward towards his inner office door, her atrocious behaviour went unobserved.

She hadn't gone as far as to lean her ear against the door – she hadn't needed to. The soft moans and the rhythmic 'thump-thump-thump' coming from inside Malfoy's office was all she'd needed to hear to know where Ms. Zeller had gone.

Feeling foolish, and irrationally angry, she stomped away, her mood worse than before.

What had she expected? Malfoy was a complete pig.

***.*.*.*.***

Head bent over a folder in his hands, brow furrowed, Draco hurried towards his office. Zeller had made several misspellings in the latest report he'd dictated to her, and he needed her to fix them immediately.

As he reached the door of his outer office, he raised his head just in time to see a familiar set of dark brown curls whip around the corner up ahead and zoom out of sight.

Granger. Probably on her way to lunch. He wondered if she'd stopped by his office on the way past, maybe looking for a meal companion.

No, that would be too much to hope for, wouldn't it?

***.*.*.*.***

Still sulky after having consumed a whole ham and cheese croissant and a small slice of apple pie (not bad fare for a public cafeteria, she had to admit), Hermione made her way back to her office with a heavy heart. As she roamed the Ministry hallways on a reverse course back to Level Two, she debated the merits of skiving off the rest of the work day, and to head instead to Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley. Retail therapy was needed, and books always cheered her up; it was a mental health issue.

Deciding to go with the idea, she threw open her office door upon arriving, determined to quickly pen a note to Harry about a sudden headache.

She got two steps in and came to a complete halt.

A stony-faced Harry sat in one of the two guest chairs before her desk, hands tightly clasped in front of him. In the other chair sat Malfoy, his charcoal suit and crisp white shirt impeccable (as if he hadn't been shagging his secretary just half an hour ago). His hands were stippled, and his face carefully neutral.

Their attention was on an enormous crystal vase sitting in the centre of her desk. It contained three dozen white orchids – her favourite flower. An emerald green ribbon was wrapped around the vase, and leaning against it was a cream-coloured envelope.

The envelope had already been opened – which meant someone had read the card already. By the looks on both Harry and Malfoy's faces, it wasn't difficult to guess the identity of the snoops.

Realising it was not the time to be indignant at Harry for opening her personal mail (she'd chew him out later, when Malfoy was not present), she walked in and shut her office door, sure this would require some privacy. She crossed the distance to her desk and picked up the envelope.

Flipping it open and pulling out the card, her face drained of colour as she read the words written in a familiar green ink:

You've been haunting my nights when I close my eyes, my gorgeous girl.  
>Have you been dreaming of me, too?<p> 


	13. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Chapter 11 was the last of the previously posted chapters, meaning we're back to my original updating schedule; depending on each chapter's length, I'll update twice, or thrice a week.

***This chapter featured a very explicit scene, that I had to cut out almost completely; editing was useless in this case. For the full version, check out my livejournal - link is in my profile.***

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 1<em>****_2_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

Harry was almost impossible to pacify after the opulent gesture from the thief.

It wasn't just the flowers or the fact that somehow, 'The Serpent' had managed to sneak them into her office—into the heart of the Ministry—without anyone seeing him coming or going that had been the last nail in her proverbial coffin, no. What had really gotten his ire up had been the card.

There was no denying any longer that 'The Serpent' was intensely interested in her on a personal level. This wasn't just about work any longer, as Harry had rightly pointed out (shouted, more like). This was about her safety from an unknown, possibly deranged, and clearly obsessive criminal whose ego was out of control.

The idiotic perp was making her life hell with his unwanted attentions.

For his part, Malfoy had handled the revelation that she was being targeted by 'The Serpent' in a slightly calmer, more rational manner: he'd simply advised her to be more careful and Harry to consider the possibility of using the thief's interest as leverage. Then, he'd stood up and taken his leave of them both, tossing a last, curious glance over his shoulder at her.

How typically Slytherin.

For an hour after that, she and Harry had engaged in a shouting match that was surely heard through all ten levels (and the sub-level containment cells beneath the courtrooms) of the Ministry. She had adamantly refused to move in to Grimmauld Place with him or to accept bodyguards on her 24-7. She had conceded to him warding her place better, though, and to a magical trace on her person to assure her quick recovery in case of a kidnapping, unlikely though such an act seemed.

Harry hadn't agreed with her compromises one bit. His face had turned a silly shade of puce as he'd spluttered and raged on about her safety.

The moment he'd threatened to take her off the case, however, Hermione had drawn the line and put her foot down, refusing to be bullied by him into a course of action that a.) would make her appear a fragile flower and incapable of wielding the awesome magic in her repertoire, and b.) would hinder her ability to properly conduct the investigation. What if she'd had to go incognito to follow 'The Serpent' back to his lair, she'd demanded of him? She couldn't very well do so with a bunch of Cozzers (as Ron liked to humorously call the Hit-Wizards) stomping along behind her now could she?

Still, the_ Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Take-No-For-An-Answer hadn't given up. He'd pulled out the big guns and had_ summoned the Minister, presenting Kingsley with all three cards the thief had left for Hermione, and informing their boss that he'd suspected 'The Serpent' might have developed an obsession with his pursuer. He'd then opined that given the recent developments, he'd felt it no longer safe or wise to allow Hermione to lead the investigation.

Hermione had rebutted with logic and fact, rather than with emotion.

Fortunately for Hermione, the Minister had sided with her. Calmly, soothingly almost, Shacklebolt informed Harry that, despite 'The Serpent's' apparent infatuation, he agreed with Hermione's assessment that their perp wasn't a dangerous fellow. He'd felt the thief was more interested in a game of cat and mouse than actually harming her, and he'd announced that such arrogance suited their purposes perfectly.

"If he's too focused on outsmarting our Hermione here, then he's bound to trip up eventually. All these narcissist criminal types do, don't they? Just look at the Lestrange brothers."

The brothers' arrogance had led to Hermione's pin-pointing them and their eventual capture, as Kingsley so rightly pointed out.

"In order to make this work though, we need Hermione on the team. She's got the experience, the intelligence, and the leadership skills to bag our man," their boss ruthlessly continued. "She's a seasoned Auror, a war heroine, and a powerful witch. She knows what's best for her, Harry, and if she thinks she can handle our perp's attentions, then so be it. I'm inclined to let her run with this, as you both agreed Mister Malfoy advised. I think his obsession with Hermione is a piece of our arsenal we shouldn't flinch from using, if necessary, to reel him in."

In an attempt to stop Harry from blowing up, Kingsley asked Hermione to promise them that if at any point she felt insecure and afraid, she'd immediately tell one or both of them. Her safety was more important than catching the thief, he'd reiterated.

Smiling sweetly at her unexpected ally, Hermione made the promise, and then announced her intentions to take the rest of the day off, claiming a headache from all of the yelling she and Harry had done at each other. Graciously, her superior agreed to allow her the time off, and he led a deathly quiet Harry Potter out of her office. She avoided her friend's eyes as he left, unwilling to deal with the betrayal she knew his green eyes reflected back at her.

His intentions might have been good, but she was pissed he had tried to take her off the case. She wasn't sure there was going to be easy forgiveness between them this time.

True to her word, the moment she was alone in her office, she penned a memo to Anthony to let him know he could reach her at her home if anything came up, and then sent an invitation to Ginny for that dinner she owned her red-headed friend.

What she needed right now, was a hot bath and some Anadin.

***.*.*.*.***

Sighing heavily, she sank in her bathtub filled with steamy water. The scent of the vanilla, lavender, and honey bath oils she'd dropped in infiltrated her nostrils, relaxing her. The hot water soothed her sore muscles, and had a calming effect on her temper, and for the first time that day, she let go of some of her righteous anger.

First Malfoy with his secretary, then Harry with his bullying. What a day.

Leaning her head back, she shut her eyes and allowed herself some peace.

_Ring-ring-ring-ring._

The sound of her telephone shook her out of her restful state, and Hermione realised she had been about to fall asleep in her tub. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed her wand from the side table near the tub, and heated the now cooling water before summoning her cordless phone from the living room.

The door to the bathroom was gaping open so the phone came easily to her magical call. Living alone, she saw no reason to shut inside doors, especially as none of her friends would be so rude as to Floo over without alerting her first, unless there was an emergency.

Grabbing the phone in the air, she relaxed back into the tub, and hit the answer button. "Hello?"

Silence.

Hermione frowned.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

The sound of soft breathing greeted her ears.

"Who is this? Answer me."

A soft chuckle came through the earpiece – one she instantly recognised from her night at the Zabini's party. Her breath caught, her body tensed, and her hand grasped the phone more firmly.

"You bastard."

_"Figured me out yet, my Lioness?"_

No doubt about it – it was 'The Serpent'.

Looking around for her bathrobe, she was already contemplating how fast she could alert Anthony, and if she could somehow trace the call.

_"I wouldn't bother." _His voice was amused. He had obviously guessed her intentions. _"This phone is untraceable. I took it from a nice Muggle. Very high profile, if you know what I mean. So, why don't you save yourself the trouble, and just enjoy conversing with me for a moment or two?"_

"I don't have conversations with pervert criminals," she bit back, mentally debating what to do. His words implied that this Muggle whose phone he was 'borrowing' was an important figure, so it was probably one of those high-tech devices that even magic could not track. There was no reason to doubt him, either, as 'The Serpent' wasn't a liar, merely a thief. Besides, he was wicked smart. If there was even a remote chance they could track him, he wouldn't have called her at all.

_"Perverted? You wound me, my sweet. Didn't we have fun the other night?"_

She growled. "You body-bound me and proceeded to assault my person. I don't call that fun. Not in the least."

_"Now, now, don't be harsh. We both know you enjoyed my attentions."_

"Did I?" she snarked back, feeling her skin flush at his confidence. She wasn't _that_ transparent... was she? "You know this, how? If you'll recall, I was _Petrified_. How can you be so sure I wasn't screaming at you in my head to stop?"

_"Your dress was very thin, my Lioness, and you wore no bra. You might not have been able to verbalize your pleasure, but your erect nipples were solid proof you found enjoyment from my touches and my kiss. Besides, I could easily smell your arousal. No knickers... tsk-tsk."_

His voice oozed sex and hinted at amusement. Hermione felt her whole body flushing, and shame coursed through her. He spoke the truth, she had been thoroughly aroused by his gentle caresses over her face and throat and by the soft warmth of his mouth on hers, but she'd be damned if she admitted such a thing aloud.

"You despicable miscreant–"

_"No worries, gorgeous. I won't tell anyone you like to be restrained. It'll be our little secret."_

His husky voice had lowered to a honeyed murmur, making her lower body tingle and her inner muscles clench with desire. "Shut up. You've no right to say such things to me–"

_"I have every right," _he easily, yet firmly countered. _"You're mine."__  
><em>

She laughed harshly. "You're delusional. I'm not yours, and I'd never form any kind of relationship with a criminal."

_"Oh, my sweet, aren't you tired of lying to yourself?"_

"I'm not."

_"But you are," _he argued. _"Every time, you deny yourself what you really want, what your body needs, you delude yourself into thinking men like your ginger boy-toy are enough to satisfy your hunger, but we both know you're a greedy thing, just like me. You want, _need_ more. Ordinary sex won't do it for you any longer. You need a man who will take the responsibility of your pleasure into his hands without flinching and with great care, who will acknowledge your darker desires and offer them to you." __  
><em>

"M-my darker desires," she asked, nearly breathless in shock that he knew so much. "What... what are they?"

_"You crave for someone to steal away all your hard-won control, and to fill your days and nights with endless pleasure. You want to be taken in every way... even if it's forbidden. You want to be collared and bound, to feel the sting of a palm and of leather upon your luscious bum, to be blindfolded and Silence'd and forced to trust, to watch as your body is opened and used by another for their pleasure too. You are tired of always being the responsible one, the dependable one, the one who is always,_ always_ in control. You want to kneel and obey. What you need my sweet, sweet girl, is to be dominated by a man who will cherish you and serve your every whim, while owning you, body and soul. That's why you need me. I will give you all of that and more, if you want – you have only to say, 'yes'."_

Dear Merlin... How did this complete stranger—a man she had only met once, and whose identity she didn't have a clue—find out her most sinful desires? No one, and she meant _no one_, knew of her dirtiest fantasies. She'd never told a soul, as she knew they would be rejected by most 'normal' people. But she couldn't help it; her sexual needs shamed and excited her at the same time, and made her unbearably wet and aching with such a burning that she felt like the simplest touch would cause her to implode some days.

Not that she hadn't tried to broach the subject once or twice with Ron–he'd been, after all, the one relationship she'd been certain had been leading to marriage at one point–but he'd seemed uncomprehending of what she'd really wanted. Sex in his father's shed had been the peak of their sexual exploits, and at the time, Hermione had been a bit too shy and inexperienced to sit him down and explain that she had interest in exploring alternative sexual scenarios, some even considered a bit deviant.

Only once, six months ago, had she dared actively search for a man who could give her what she wanted. She still vividly recalled the BDSM club she'd visited – the heavy scent of sweat, leather, and sex in the air had been an intoxicating blend to her senses. The way the tall, masked man had touched her then had been firm, yet gentle, his every caress and stroke over her hot skin a brand. He'd led her to the private rooms in the back, instinctively knowing she wouldn't enjoy others watching her initiation into his world. He'd brought her to ecstasy, again and again and again that night. In the afters, the man had untied her and had soothed her sore wrists with open-mouthed kisses. He had taken gentle care of her body, helping her to sit and checking her over for injuries.

It had been the most beautiful, moving night of her life.

She'd ruined it, though. When he'd asked to see her again, the reality of what she'd just done had hit her like a ton of bricks. She'd let a complete stranger tie her up, spank her, and fuck her harder than she'd ever been. She'd let him come in her and on her. She'd tasted him. And she hadn't even known his name or what he'd looked like. Embarrassed by her extreme wantonness, she'd made some excuse about having made a mistake, had fumblingly dressed, and had flown out the club as if chased by hellhounds. She'd gone home and cried, torn between what she'd wanted and craved and by the morals she'd been raised to believe.

And here she was again, quite literally being propositioned by a strange man, who not only knew of her hidden inclinations, but seemed quite excited to try them out with her. Too bad he was on the wrong side of the law. She wouldn't ruin her career for an affair with the criminal she'd been tasked to hunt down and bring to justice.

It was time to shut this fascination down, before the fear of compromising her principles became a reality. With her body raging at her currently, it would be too easy to give in to what 'The Serpent' was offering. That was a risk she couldn't afford to take. "You're delusional. I don't want any of that," she stated, trying to sound cool and unaffected, but she heard her voice had trembled there at the end.

_"Stop lying,"_ he ordered, his voice a low growl that went straight to her core. _"I'm not one of your prudish, conservative friends who would jump at the opportunity to judge you. You may think I don't know you, but I do. I know you better than you think."_

"You know nothing‒"

_"I know you are passionate in all aspects of your life, not just in your job. I know you are beautiful, yet you're still insecure. I know your skin feels like satin, and you taste sweet. I know that when you're turned on, your breathing picks up and the tops of your breasts flush with blood. I know you are embarrassed by your sexual needs, and you think them unnatural. I know none of your previous lovers treated you as you wished, and that lack of sexual chemistry is responsible for ending most of your relationships, despite the other excuses you told yourself and your friends. I know you enjoy me talking to you like this, and that the quivering of your voice is not from anger, but from suppressed lust. Your mind may tell you I'm not suitable for you, but your body _craves _me." _

"N-no," she falsely denied, closing her eyes. In her heart, she knew he was right. He was so, _so_ right!

_"Tell me, my Lioness, are you wet for me? Reach between your legs and touch your beautiful pussy. Tell me if you're wet or not. I bet you are."_

Oh, God.

Her thighs shook and Hermione bit her lip, her mind screaming at her to hang up… and her heart and body _yearning_ to know more that this sensual, dark man had to offer.

She didn't know how he'd discovered her most intimate secrets, but that he did gave him power over her. If he so chose, he could humiliate and ridicule her with the knowledge. Who would take her seriously if it became public knowledge that she enjoyed her arse blushing under a man's hand? She'd lose respect.

Shameful and fearful tears burned her eyes._"Don't be afraid, princess." _His tone was soft, soothing. _"I won't tell anyone. I give you my word."__  
><em>

A choked laugh escaped her. "The word of a thief!"

_"I am an honourable man. You, better than anyone, know why I steal from_ them_."_

"Steal from the rich, give back to the poor," she snipped. "I get it, I do. It still doesn't make it right, though."

_"I'm aware, but you know that it's the only way for them to pay for what they've done. As long as they keep up respectable public appearances and donate frequently to political campaigns and charities, the Ministry will not punish them. You are an exception to the rule and a force to be reckoned with in all things, my Lioness, but it would still take you at least half a decade to make any notable changes in the current political climate. Change takes time, and I am an impatient man when it comes to this cause. I am not willing to let those… those _frauds_ parade around with not even a slap on the wrist for their criminal activity." _He sounded irate now, his breathing heavy, his voice a dangerous hiss. _"What they've done from the shadows—the purposeful financial ruining of lives, the secret support to those who would bring this Ministry down, and the misuse of magic on those without the ability to defend themselves all for their own personal financial gain—has been as evil as anything a Death Eater ever did, only much more secretive and cleverly disguised."__  
><em>

"You… you've given this a lot of thought, I see," she stated, hoping to coax her perp into talking about the case, rather than about her bedroom proclivities.

He seemed to regain a bit of control then, for his voice calmed. _"Think about it, my Lioness: what I take back from them is of_ Muggle _origin – items stolen by them directly or by some distant ancestor, or purchased from others who fenced the goods with full knowledge of their embezzled status. They're far from innocent. If I see it, why won't the Ministry? Why doesn't it act to retrieve those goods and return them to their rightful owners?"_

"Because it's illegal to go through snooping through a person's cache without probable cause," she informed him. "How do you know those items are stolen? How do you know they weren't legitimately purchased?"

_"Find me a bill of sale for any of those items, and I'll concede,"_ he countered. _"And if you're so interested in seeing me end my current occupation as a thief, why not convince your boss to use the excuse of dark artefact searches to get the search warrants you'll need to get a peek into these people's homes and vaults? You've done it a few times in the past, as I recall. Just start flooding the market with fake dark magical items. That'll give you the excuse to launch the investigation."__  
><em>

"That's‒" She paused, really considering his idea. "That's actually quite brilliant, if not a bit underhanded."

_"'Needs must when the devil drives',"_ he quoted the Muggle saying to her with a tender chuckle.

The more she considered his proposition, the more she was really warming up to his idea. "As you said, if we could just get a look at the secret stashes of these pure-blood families under the auspices of searching for dark artefacts, and we just _happened_ to find stolen items, then we'd be obligated to investigate and return any items deemed stolen to their proper owners. Then you could quit!"

And he wouldn't be a suspect anymore – which meant she'd be free to talk with him about his offer!

Excited, she sat up, causing water to splash on the floor, and the cool air to brush against her sensitive nipples. With a curse, she sank back down.

The Serpent's breathing sounded suddenly strangled on the line, and Hermione thought he might be having a seizure or something.

_"Are you having a _bath_?"_ he asked in a choked voice.

Uncomfortable, Hermione shifted in the water. "Er, yes."

_"Oh, you naughty, _naughty_ minx."_

Hermione gulped.

_"Do you enjoy speaking with me while naked?"_

"_You _called me!" she defended herself, unconsciously licking her lips.

_"I didn't imagine you'd answer while in the bath. Although, I have to say, I'm not complaining."_

"Well, you sound like you are."

_"My apologies, my fearless Lioness. Trust me, I'm very, _very_ happy right now. In fact, I believe I should level the playing field."_

"What are you talking about?"

Silence greeted her, and her curiosity spiked. What was that mad man doing now?

_"Ahh, much better."_

"What did you do?" she asked, a little breathless at the possibilities.

_"Stripped down. It hardly seems fair for you to be completely naked and I clothed."__  
><em>

Hermione's face burned red hot as she tried to wrap her head around this man's audacious nature.

**~*~*~*~*~(cut scene)~*~*~*~*~**

Breathing laboured, Hermione regained her senses and immediately felt shame crowding her skull and spill from her every pore. Dear Merlin, she just had phone sex with the thief she was hunting! So much for professionalism!

A hitched sob escaped her lips. "No…" she whispered.

_"Stop."_

Her cheeks flared at the deep satisfaction colouring his tone. There was no question in her mind that the cursed man on the other end of the line had enjoyed this as much as she did, perhaps even more. And it was wrong. So incredibly wrong!

_"For once in your life, stop thinking about everyone else, and focus on yourself," _he demanded of her. _"You enjoyed what we did. It doesn't make you a bad person."_

"What we did... You're a wanted criminal and I'm entrusted to bring you to justice," she snapped.

_"No one will know about tonight. I don't intend to tell. It's our secret – yours and mine. Stop worrying."_

"How do I know I can trust you?" she countered. "For all I know, you've been recording the whole thing and plan to use this as blackmail!"

_"Silence, Hermione, now. Before you say something ridiculous that you'll regret." _He sounded offended. _"And you can bet I'm going to add another twenty slaps to your punishment for insulting my honour."_

Her mouth twisted into a stubborn line. "There will be nothing of the sort because it's never going to happen between us."

He had the audacity to laugh. _"Keep telling yourself that, my Lioness., but soon I will claim what is mine, and no one will be able to stop me. Sleep well, my lovely. Dream of me."_

"Listen here, you‒"

He hung up.

The bastard hung up.

With a shriek, she threw the phone across the bathroom and sank under her bath water.

God help her, but she wanted him so much.


	14. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 1<em>****_3_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"For the last time, Harry, _no, _I don't need an Auror shadowing me! I _am_ one, _remember?"_ Hermione growled, throwing Ron a threatening glare as she faced off with her best friend, who once again had taken it upon himself to annoy her to death with his overprotectiveness.

Of course, she thought it prudent not to point out that if she was in any danger from 'The Serpent', it sure as hell wasn't the kind Harry had in mind.

"He called you!" Harry shouted in exasperation, his glasses askew as he pointed an accusing finger at her. Crookshanks twirled around his feet as he stood over her as she sat in her red, plush armchair. "You said if he made another move‒"

"I said if I felt unsafe, I'll tell you. I don't, so there's no need to act like a dick. _Again._"

For the third time that day, Hermione cursed her idiocy for telling Harry and Ron about 'The Serpent's' phone call. Of course she didn't tell them exactly what had transpired during her conversation with the thief (she'd die before admitting to anyone she had phone sex with a man she was supposed to be hunting).

"How did he find your number? Obviously, he searched!"

"Harry, I'm listed on public record. He could literally pick up any phone book in England and find my number. We know he's proficient with Muggle technology, so it is not a big leap to think he knows his way around the Muggle world. Stop making it such a big deal‒"

"It **_is_** a big deal!" He narrowed his eyes. "This proves beyond a doubt that he has a personal interest in you."

"So that means we have a way to lure him into a trap," she calmly interjected. "Kingsley told you we can use 'The Serpent's' interest in me against him. If it means I have to _endure_ his attentions for a little while longer, then I will."

_Not that I'm complaining. Merlin knows, last night was the most intense orgasm of my life._

Scowling at her thoughts, she cleared her throat and addressed her friend and superior. "I know you care for me, Harry, but it's time to let me do my job. I've faced worse than a thief with a Robin Hood complex in my career, yet you act like I'm a trainee! For Circe's sake, you undermine me in my own team!"

"I do not‒"

"Anthony told me you asked him to run every decision I make through you first," she cut him off, still irate over that sly manoeuver. "You're make me out to be an incompetent, Harry, and I won't have it."

Her friend flinched.

"_You _asked me to take this case, and so far you've been an interfering pain in the arse! Goodness, if you don't trust me, just say so and I'll be happy to turn it over to you and be on my merry way, transfer or no transfer. I can always go find other work."

"No!" he gasped. His eyes were wide with panic. "How can you even _think _that? You are the best Auror in the department!"

"Oi!" Ron chimed in, taking offence at his easy dismissal.

"Oh, shush, Ron. You pride yourself on dodging work," Hermione playfully rebuked, "especially overtime and volunteer hours. Means more time at the pub." …Where he pulled his women and drank like a fish with his brothers and friends. Partying was still his favourite pastime.

Her ex slouched back in his seat and pretended to sulk, but winked and grinned at her when she glanced over at him. Over the years, Ron had gotten over his insecurities in regards to coming in second place behind the press that both Harry and she generated. He'd discovered sometime after the fifth anniversary of the war that constantly being in the spotlight wasn't necessarily a smart or comfortable thing, so he'd been more than happy to step back and let his two best friends vie for the attention of reporters. As a result, he'd become something of a lazy creature, working just hard enough to keep what he had, but not enough to be considered ambitious – much like the quintessential male lion on the African plains. Maximum fun, minimum work had become his motto ever since.

Honestly, not having to worry about his reactions constantly made Hermione's relationship with Ron so much easier. They were excellent friends now.

She'd thought the same of her other best friend, but recently, she'd wanted to drop-kick him to Saturn. As she stared at Harry now, with his messy hair and his worried frown, she sighed. "Your behaviour implies you don't trust me, Harry."

"I do trust you. It's just… it's different now," he insisted.

"How so? I'm tracking a thief, a highly competent one to be sure, but he's not even in the Lestranges' league! You sent me after _them_ with a smile and a 'good luck', but now you behave like I'm up against Voldemort himself! So tell me: what's changed from the last case to now?"

She seriously needed to know. Because at the rate things were going, she was about ready to walk out the door and to bully Kingsley into processing her transfer request immediately. 

***.*.*.*.***

Thoroughly chastised, Harry averted his eyes from Hermione's.

It was true, until now he had always been casual with her handling of the most dangerous cases, because in his heart, he knew she _could_ handle them. She was incredibly competent and magically strong, and she always got the job done. Only his record was better than hers.

But now...

Well, things _were_ different now, no matter how he tried to tell himself otherwise, because before he only worried about his best friend. Now he had to worry about the woman he loved.

But how could he explain himself, without letting on to the fact that he was head over heels for her? How could he put those feelings aside and see her again as just another Auror?

He'd struggled with that dilemma every day since he'd come to realise how deep a hole his inconvenient feelings had dug for him. First of all, he knew Hermione was not ready for him to declare himself, and Harry wouldn't risk their friendship until he was sure his feisty, brunette witch wouldn't freak out over his assertion that she was it for him. Second, she was sort-of, maybe dating that pompous arse, Theodore Nott. Harry disliked the former Slytherin something fierce (privately he admitted it was mostly because Theo had taken on a date the woman Harry wanted—and she'd worn a hot-as-hell dress for the occasion to boot—but outwardly, he believed Theo was just a pretentious fucker). And third, even if Hermione returned his feelings, she'd still refuse to obey him. Being in love with her wouldn't justify his unprofessional actions in her opinion, most likely.

He needed to back off. He was letting his personal feelings get in the way, and Hermione was beginning to really resent him for it. It was difficult for him to let go and to trust that things would take their natural course (in his favour, hopefully), but in this case, he knew he needed to do exactly that, or he would risk losing her not just as a potential girlfriend, but as a friend, too.

Taking a deep, resigned breath, he leaned back into the cushions of the sofa beside Ron and scowled at some obscure point in the room. "I still don't like it," he murmured a bit petulantly.

Hermione gave him a small, understanding smile. "You don't have to, Harry, but you must accept that as long as this case is mine, I'll handle it as I deem appropriate."

Grudgingly, he nodded.

"Lovely," she said, genuinely smiling. "Now, why don't you two tell me your news?"

Harry remained silent as Ron began to talk, part of his brain filtering the conversation (so he wouldn't be accused of not listening) as the other half considered how much longer it might be before 'The Serpent' was caught. The sooner the better, he thought. He wanted them all to be able to move on to the next great adventure of their lives.

He only hoped that included Hermione accepting his suit.

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione felt good for the first time in weeks.

She could admit that her body felt more relaxed after her _conversation _with 'The Serpent', but after the one she'd had with Harry, it had become clear to her that she'd allowed her mind to be muddled by lust. She couldn't permit that to happen again. 'The Serpent' wasn't her lover, he was her professional objective. He'd chosen the way of the thief, and no matter his good intentions, he'd brought down the wrath of the Ministry upon him. It was her job to reel him in and to put an end to his spree.

With Anthony and Michael Corner's help, two of the best strategists on her team, she was able to devise a plan to use 'The Serpent's' attraction to her to lull and lure him into an arrest. Admittedly, it was embarrassing at first to reveal that their thief was physically interest in her, but as Kingsley had so rightly pointed out, everyone recognised the advantage in using his infatuation against him.

A small, uneasy question sullied her good mood, despite her best efforts to keep her guilt from interfering in her job: what if he was honest in his pursuit? What if he'd meant everything he'd said to her, and hadn't just been playing a cat-and-mouse game on the phone to unnerve her (as she'd convinced herself in the hours since)? That million-Galleon question rolled around in her head often.

It would be a very foolish move if he _was_ sincere, she thought, but if anyone knew that the heart rarely followed one's commands it was her. Just look at her and Mal‒

Oh, no. No, no, no, she wouldn't go there. She refused to spoil her day by thinking of _him, Mister Number One, a.k.a. the Blond Menace_.

He was probably screwing his secretary right now, anyway.

Not that she cared. Absolutely not.

This lying to herself was becoming a bad habit, wasn't it? 

***.*.*.*.***

Granger didn't notice him as he sauntered into the cafeteria, but Draco couldn't help but pause for a moment to stare at her. She looked distressed, and more than a little tired, and her hair was an atrocious halo of mutinous curls surrounding her head, telling him she'd had a bad night.

He still thought her beautiful. Not in the classic alabaster skin, wide eyes, bow-shaped mouth, sooty long lashes sense, like Astoria, but still, there was something about Hermione Granger that had him looking twice on a regular basis. If he had to put a name to it, it was the unintentional sensuality of her movements coupled with that spark of feisty intelligence that captivated him. He could sense a repressed sexuality simmering just under her skin, too, and knew that once it was finally released, a lesser man would find it difficult to slake her lust, much less tame her in the bedroom. Her imagination and curiosity would be boundless.

He ached for such a challenge.

Salazar's will, but it made him harder than steel to know that all her heat was, on occasion, directed at him, too! That feral, hungry look in her dark amber eyes that he occasionally spied made his pulse race. Just thinking about it now was causing a reaction down below, in fact.

The smouldering glances she sometimes directed his way told him he had a chance with her... _if_ he could get to her before Theo or Potter. As he'd been hoping to run into her this afternoon (she'd been dodging him for a couple of days, he'd noticed, although he didn't understand why), perhaps it was time for him to make a move.

As he walked past them, he casually winked at a company of female Ministry workers cramped together at a table, obviously gossiping. They giggled as he passed, which he found immensely amusing, as years earlier, they wouldn't have given him the time of day had he asked. Walking to the counter, he placed his order with a glassy-eyed blonde who kept fiddling with her hair while she overtly flirted with him.

As he waited for his cappuccino (Merlin love the Muggles for such an invention!), he turned to seek out Granger again. She was completely absorbed with her inner thoughts, absently pushing her brunch around on her plate. His presence thus far had gone undetected. Good. It made pouncing on her easier.

With a devilish smirk, he threw some silver coins on the counter, more than enough to cover his drink and a generous tip, grabbed his steaming cup of coffee and casually approached her table. Noting her lack of attention, his smirk widened as he plopped himself on the available seat across from hers.

"Galleon for your thoughts?" he interrupted her peace.

Hermione startled and jumped in her seat, jarring the table. Her glass of orange juice tipped over. Before it could spill its contents everywhere and make a mess, Draco reached out and caught it, and then set it straight.

A second passed, then two.

"Thank you," she said, finally acknowledging him.

She didn't seem _too_ appreciative of his efforts though, he noted, as she was frowning at him.

Inwardly, he sighed, his good mood souring. Why was it he could turn the ladies' heads with a simple smile, but he never got _this _woman's attention except when he did or said something to irritate her? 

***.*.*.*.***

What was _he_ doing here? There were at least three tables where Malfoy could sit and literally be welcomed with open arms (in fact, over his broad shoulder, she caught the jealous glares of four different women and the calculating stares of another two), so why was he darkening her doorstep?

The women, she absently noted, bent towards each other, whispering and tossing her envious glances. Great, just what she needed. More gossip to light Harry's fire.

"You're welcome," he returned her greeting with a casual tilt of his head. "So."

She arched an eyebrow at him, confused as to his lead-in going nowhere. "So... what?"

Malfoy's lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile at her intentional impertinence. Tosser.

"What were you thinking?" he asked. "Clearly it was important. I don't think you've ever been unaware of your surroundings in public before, but I just took you by complete surprise. You've forgotten Moody's number one rule, it seems."

Hermione felt her face flushing. She'd rather go up against a Hungarian Horntail wandless than admit to Malfoy what had her so preoccupied she'd failed to notice him.

"Ah." His patented smirk deepened, and he folded his arms on the table, leaning forward. "Were they __naughty __thoughts?"

__"Oh, you naughty, naughty minx."__

She jerked, his words bringing back memories from two nights ago. Heat travelled down her body, and mortification surged when she felt her knickers dampen immediately. Dear Lord, why had he used _that_ particular word!?

"Shut up," she demanded, but to her further humiliation, her voice came out in a breathy squeak that decidedly sounded guilty.

A slow, shark-like grin bloomed across his face.

Hermione felt like stabbing herself in the eye with her fork.

"Well, well," he murmured, his eyes darkening with interest. "Who would have thought? Hermione Granger, Queen of the Prudes, having dirty thoughts – and in public even! How positively scandalous."

Her foot connected with his shin under the table, and Hermione was satisfied to see him jerk back and wince. She buried the hurt his words had caused her behind a wall of anger. "Get your mind out of the gutter," she snarled at him. "Not every woman is a sex-starved hussy – only the ones you seem to date."

Was it really such a surprise Malfoy considered her a prude, though? After all, everyone else around here did, it seemed. Still, having the man she was current lust-fancying all over outright tell her that he considered her priggish and immature was hurtful.

"You're no fun, Granger," he grumbled, before straightening and levelling her with a suddenly serious and calculating stare. "Silly banter aside, I do need to have a word with you."

"I'm listening," she stated, and took a sip from her orange juice, watching him over the rim of her glass.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. His stare held weight. "I hear you had another encounter with our perp."

Surprised, she paused for a second, before annoyance got the better of her. Carefully, she set her glass on the table before mimicking his pose, determined not to allow Malfoy to bully her about her decisions regarding 'The Serpent', either. It had been bad enough when Harry had stepped over the line. Now it seemed she'd have to put her co-worker in his place as well.

She would not be chased off this case! 

***.*.*.*.***

"None of your business," Granger stated in an icy tone.

Draco wasn't a man who would be dismissed or intimidated, especially by this slip of a woman. "My sources say he called your home."

"And who are your sources, pray tell?" she asked, dodging his accusation with a question.

His smile stretched to a naughty grin, and he noted that she shifted, clearly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "You don't honestly expect me to reveal their identities, do you?"

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll find out eventually. Just be aware that with the investigation still on-going, whoever is feeding information to any unauthorized third-parties will lose his or her job, so‒"

"So it _is _true," he persisted.

"What's true?"

"You _did_ have another encounter with The Serpent."

"No."

He frowned. "You just‒"

"Whatever your _sources _are, Malfoy, they were wrong. An 'encounter' implies a physical meeting. The only 'encounter' I've had with suspect was the one in the Zabini's library."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're splitting hairs."

Again, she shrugged. "You should choose your words more carefully."

"Granger," he growled, losing patience. This woman could make him want to tear all his hair out.

She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "Two nights ago, he called me on my Muggle telephone at home. We didn't meet face-to-face, though, so it was not an 'encounter', _per se_."

"He telephoned you," he repeated, loving the way that word rolled off her tongue.

"He did." She nodded sincerely, expression neutral.

"And what did he want?"

He couldn't wait to hear her explanation.

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione felt her face exploding with heat, and angrily stomped down on the memories of her conversation with 'The Serpent'. She didn't need to have an orgasm in the middle of the cafeteria, for Godric's sake. She'd never live it down.

"The usual. You know." She flippantly waved a hand in the air, coughing to hide her embarrassment.

"I'm afraid I don't. Why don't you enlighten me?" Malfoy asked. The hint of a mocking smirk lifted one corner of his mouth and his grey eyes twinkled with mischief.

Either he was intentionally being obtuse, or…

_He couldn't possibly know. Could he? _

No. No way. How would he know what she and the thief had discussed? She'd been at home and safely tucked behind her wards, so there was no way he could have heard her conversation that night.

–Unless he'd somehow eavesdropped. Tile _did_ have a habit of echoing, and the window _had_ been open, and George's new take on the Extendable Ears _had _been selling like hotcakes since their launch a few months back.

What if he had been snooping on her somehow? Good God, her career would be over! Not to mention the fact he'd have heard her moaning and crying out from the most amazing orgasm of her life.

_Oh, Merlin, Circe, and Morgana!_

"What did 'The Serpent' want, Granger?" Malfoy prodded. His smile was pure sin now – completely unrepentant, and as wicked as the Devil's own. "As far as I know, he's never contacted any of the rest of us on this case. You are the only one so far that he has shown such an _interest_ in. Some might believe him actually enamoured with you."

"Only morons will think that!" she disputed, face burning with shame and embarrassment. "'The Serpent's' only interest in me is purely to tweak my nose. He enjoys the chase as much as winning, so of course he loves goading and provoking, too. Given how the press went nuts over my involvement with the case, it's natural he'd feel the need to prove himself. And what better way than messing with the lead investigator? Beating me will be his ultimate victory."

"Seems like you have him completely figured out," he commented.

The intensity of his words and his gaze made Hermione uncomfortable. "I'm basing my profile of him on his actions. It's not that difficult to see he's a manipulative narcissist."

"So you believe he's just playing you?" he asked archly, and Hermione was surprised at the vehemence in his tone.

"I don't believe for a second that it's me he really wants," she answered assuredly. "I think he's out to impress himself, mostly."

Malfoy's jaw clenched. "I see." His eyes sparked with anger.

Why was he reacting as if he were personally offended by her assessment, she wondered.

"Why wasn't I informed of his telephone call the same night he made it?" he demanded. "As lead prosecutor on this case and a member of the team, I expect you to include me on any new developments in the case."

Hermione's eye twitched with growing irritation. "You _expected_ me to inform you. As if you're my superior. As if I owe you an explanation for my every decision when it comes to 'The Serpent'. Is that what you're saying?"

"I know what you're implying, and I am not Potter," he reminded her, rolling his eyes. "I do remember our last conversation, as well, but I have to remind you that two minds are better than one. I'm not asking you to reveal any vital piece of information that may lead to his capture, or your plans about finally catching him, but I'd hope you wouldn't feel that telling me when he calls you, or visits you, or sends you flowers wouldn't such a far-fetched idea. After all‒"

'Far-fetched'. That wasn't a Malfoy sort of word to use. It sounded like something Harry would say, though.

A dawning understanding cleared the cobwebs from her mind. "Dear God, Harry put you up to this, didn't he?" she asked, incredulous. "He knows I won't talk to him about the case anymore after our row, so he sent you to spy for him!"

Hermione felt like strangling her best friend, especially when Malfoy stopped talking and threw her a _don't-act-so-surprised _look. "I told him you'd figure it out. You're three steps ahead of him most days – even when you're distracted by a sexy thief who calls you up in the middle of the night to heavy breathe in your ear," he said.

Hurt by her best friend's inexcusable actions and by the fact that she'd thought, just for a minute, that Malfoy had been acting decently concerned for her (but really hadn't been), she grabbed her shoulder bag from the empty chair where she'd earlier set it down and stood up.

"I'll tell you what I told him earlier: back off or else," she growled. Throwing what she hoped was her most scorching glare at him, she stomped away, mind set on murder.

***.*.*.*.***

Draco leaned back in his chair and watched Granger stomp away in a huff. He admired the way her hips swayed in her snug, black pencil skirt despite her heavy steps.

God she was sexy when she was riled up. He'd always thought so, even back during their school days (in between the times she was annoying him with her swottiness and her constant defending of Potter and Weasley). He was man enough to admit it now: he'd been hot for her since the day she'd slapped him when he'd been thirteen and deserving of that kind of attention.

"See you later, my… Granger," he whispered at her retreating form.


	15. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **This chapter contained explicit material, so I had to cut the scene out. You can find the full version in my livejournal – link in my profile. *If you think the chapter is still to explicit, let me know, so I can do some more editing.*

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 1<em>****_4_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

For the first time since that night she'd walked into the BDSM club, Hermione felt truly desired and vibrantly alive. Every man in the room had his eye on her, she couldn't help but notice, and that sort of flattery had gone straight to her head.

Hanging on Theo's arm, she and her handsome, sexily-dressed date mingled in the crowd, stopping every other minute so he could converse with his guests and introduce her to the most prominent ones, like the dutiful host he was.

Two days ago, while enjoying an evening stroll with him after work, Theo had casually asked her if she'd be willing to attend another social event with him as his date. The event: a black tie fund-raising gala held in his art gallery in Muggle London. The _crème de la crème_ of wizarding England's high society had been invited along with the most important Ministry officials.

Harry had sent his regrets back with his invite after learning that Hermione was going as the host's "plus one", but Kingsley was there, as was most of the upper administration.

Hermione had received her initial invite nearly a month ago, but had neglected to respond, thinking it unimportant. To her way of thinking, the gala would be just another event where pure-bloods could throw some money at a decent cause to generate some good P.R. for themselves and their families, and to lavish attention and compliments upon the "right people", all in a vainglorious attempt to regain some semblance of their former respect and prominence in society. Honestly, she'd intended upon ignoring the invite. However, Theo's request for her to accompany him had been sincere, and his genuine love for his gallery had shown in his every word, and so Hermione found could not refuse him.

Unto the breach she'd run, entrusting herself to Ginny's capable and very fashionable hands, and once again her best friend had pulled off a miracle. Hermione was the centre of attention in the packed room. Women stared enviously at her, and men's interest followed her everywhere. Her vanity flared a bit, and she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction at their admiration. To think, when she'd been a teenager, she'd been called the ugly girl!

The gown she was wearing, a stunning black, silk frock, reached the floor and fluttered delicately around her legs as she walked, the high thigh slit tantalizing onlookers with glimpses of her bare, smooth leg. The bodice connected with the skirt with a layer of fine lace, showing a fair amount of ivory skin beneath. The neckline was a scandalously deep "V" shape that didn't allow for a bra. It was sexy without being too provocative, and in combination with a simple pair of black strappy sandals, and her hair twisted up in a simple chignon, she felt she looked quite stunning.

In her hand she held a silk, black mask with black, blue and green feathers tastefully arranged around the side edges (Magenta Comstock, a somewhat infamous experimental artist, was the organiser and had decided the gala was to be a masked event).

"Merlin, my head aches!" Theo complained after an hour of socialising. He gently guided her towards one of the small, round tables set off to the side of the room, where they could sit for a while.

An elegantly dressed waiter, his black and white mask covering half his face, materialised next to him with a tray full of crystal flutes filled with Champagne. With a grateful smile, Theo took two glasses and tipped his head in silent thanks passing one off to her.

Hermione accepted the offered glass, and took a small sip. It was delicious and the bubbles tickled her nose.

"Tell me something," she began, "are these types of affairs always so... um..."

"Stiff?" Her date laughed, and gulped down half his Champagne in one swallow. "I'm afraid so. Unless of course you're interested in the newest scandal, what colour is currently in fashion, or you are here to further business relations. Then, I'm sure it's an absolute riot of a time."

"Oh, to be rich," she said and sighed melodramatically, earning a mock stern glare from Theo.

"And to think I saved you from the horrors that is Mrs. Shafiq! I should have left you with her so she could bore you to death with her idle chit-chat!"

"My sincerest apologies, my handsome Knight in Shining... Tuxedo," she offered with a grin, eyeing his immaculate suit. His tie and jacket were as black as her dress, and were in stark contrast with the starch, white button down shirt he wore under them. The only bit of colour to his outfit was the navy-blue vest and the matching, satin half-mask that was magically charmed to his face. Both accessories complimented the particular shade of his eyes, she noted.

Hands down, Theo was one of the most handsomest wizards in attendance, and Hermione felt rather lucky to be his date for such a prestigious event. Merlin knew, there was no lack of willing partners for the dashing former Slytherin, should he have wanted someone else.

It was a bloody shame his looks had no effect on her whatsoever.

Yes, she was flattered at having caught his attention, but frankly, there was no spark between them on her side of the equation.

That's not to say Theo's technique was flawed. He certainly knew how to use his tongue, lips, and teeth in conjunction to mind-blowing effect. Hermione privately admitted that if there was anyone 'normal' whom she _should_ be lusting after (rather than a certain co-worker and a criminal), it was Theodore Nott.

Alas, no fire.

What the fecking hell was wrong with her? Why did just the thought of a certain blond prosecutor of her acquaintance have her in dire need of a change of knickers, yet the third most eligible bachelor in all of the British Isles didn't?

She shivered as she recalled their run-in earlier that evening. Sweet Nimue, her skin had felt like she'd been on fire when, upon her entrance, she'd almost immediately locked eyes with Malfoy. Even hidden as he'd been behind his metallic grey mask, she'd been able to pick him out of the crowd easily, his height and that platinum hair of his drawing her gaze.

Theo—sweet, unaware Theo—hadn't felt the need to drag her with him when he'd gone over to greet _his old friend..._ which turned out to be a good thing, because Hermione hadn't been sure she'd be able to hold back from jumping Malfoy. The blond had looked sinful in his tailored black suit, his jacket unbuttoned to show the ice blue silk shirt he'd worn underneath and his hair fashionable messy, the fringe tucked behind his ears.

Hermione was no fool; she'd known she might run into Malfoy at the gala, not only because of his long-standing (albeit bizarre) friendship with her date, but also because the Malfoys had made a rather generous donation to tonight's cause, according to Theo. Malfoy was expected to give a short speech as the representative of his family as a result. Still, his presence troubled her. The look in his eyes when he'd raked them over her body from head to toe had left her breathless, her mouth dry, and her core pulsing with arousal.

All night long, as she greeted people on Theo's arm and danced with him, her mind and heart battled within her. A part of her wondered if Malfoy's interest was genuine. Her darkly suspicious side, however—the one that had helped her survive the war and all of the disappointments in her life to date—cynically assumed his interest was most likely based on his need to continually humiliate her. God knew, they'd never gotten along as friends, and falling prey to his charms was sure to be something he'd never let her live down.

Still, her desire for him was almost painful and unfortunately, undeniable.

She had to try harder to get over this... this sexual infatuation with her co-worker.

Taking a fortifying swallow of her Champagne, Hermione looked at her grinning date with what she hoped was a smile conveying perfect enjoyment. She didn't want to hurt his feelings by appearing bored with his party and his company; this _was _his special night, after all, and she was his companion for the evening's festivities.

"Sir."

Startled, they both looked up at an unmasked man, obviously an employee of the gallery. He seemed agitated for some reason.

"Smith, what is it?" Theo asked.

"There is a problem, sir."

Straitening in his seat, Theo removed his mask and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What kind of problem?"

"It's Mister Barbary. He wishes to purchase a painting, sir, and is rather adamant about doing so tonight."

Theo sighed. "I pay Mr. Williamson to deal with such matters, so why isn't he?"

Smith, the poor man, started sweating profoundly. "That's just it, sir. Mr. Williamson is nowhere to be found, sir. I called him numerous times, and I sent for him in his office, but he appears not to be on the premises."

"That's impossible." Theo's brows came together with his irritation. "I made it explicitly clear to him that he was to attend tonight for exactly this reason."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Theo turned to her, took her hand, and kissed the back of it in a polite bow-out. "Will you excuse me for a few minutes, my dear? I need to solve this _problem__._"

"Of course," Hermione replied, making a shooing motion with her hand. "Go. I promise not to get into any trouble while you're gone."

Chuckling, he gave her a short bow, and headed off towards the front of the gallery, Smith following closely behind him and looking like he was heading to the gallows.

Finishing the last of her drink, she stood up and wandered around the massive room, taking in the paintings and sculptures. Theo's gallery was impressive, and the exhibit hosted tonight was of a new and upcoming London stationed artist. Appreciative of art, but unable to tell a Caravaggio from a Jan van Eyck, Hermione resigned herself to simply admiring the landscapes, portraits, and sketches tastefully arranged on the walls, absently noting how many of them were still-life Muggle works.

***.*.*.*.***

She had been standing in front of a landscape—some dark and desolate piece featuring castle ruins backlit by thunder that actually raged with loud grumbling and the occasional flash of lightning (wizarding paint was so extraordinary in its ability to bring scenes and people to life!)—when the hairs on her arms stood up and she was suddenly pimpled with gooseflesh. The familiar feeling of being watched by a predatory threat made her heart start hammering in her ribcage and her body tense.

Hermione reasoned it could be anyone, but she was in public and surrounded by a gaggle of wizards and witches with wands. There was no reason for her to feel alarmed, not at all.

Yet her senses were screaming at her, and her instincts told her something wasn't right.

Forcibly, she fixed a cordial smile on her face and turned, pretending to look around for her date. She searched the crowd of formally dressed guests, most of them caught up in conversation with friends and colleagues.

_Come on, come on. Where __are_ _you, she thought._

No one seemed to be looking at her; but she knew whoever had been staring at her was still there. There was nothing out of the ordinary, though, and–

_There._

Her eyes zeroed on a lone man ascending the gallery stairs to the second floor, hands casually shoved in his pockets. He wore an elaborate dragon mask over another that covered all of his head and half of his face. He wore an all-black tuxedo.

Immediately, she knew this man's identity. She felt it in her melting bones.

_Found you__!_

She didn't know why or how, but Hermione was sure that this guest was 'The Serpent', and that it had been he who'd been staring at her.

Pulse racing, she passed her Champagne glass off to a passing waiter and casually moved towards her target. As a precaution, she kept her hand near the split in her dress, where her wand had been strapped to her in a specially-designed holster. The wand was invisible to others, but she felt it keenly against her sweating palm now.

As if sensing he was being followed, the thief slowed, and then finally paused between one step and the next. He turned to look over his shoulder. The mask made it impossible to see his eyes, especially at their disparate distance, but she knew he was looking right at her.

Hermione's heart gave a jolt and then fluttered, leaving her gasping for breath.

As the bottom half of his face was revealed by both masks, she could see his mouth as clear as day. His lips formed a full, sensual smile for her, one that was both taunting and challenging.

Good gobstones, how could he act as cool as a winter day – the picture of complete nonchalance, despite the fact he stood in her company knowing she intended on bringing him down? Was he that self-assured that she wouldn't act right then and there to capture him? Or was he just that unafraid of the consequences?

_He's insane. Completely mad._

Before she could respond or catch up to him, he turned his back on her and resumed ascending the stairs, clearly expecting her to follow.

Wand hand twitching, Hermione restrained herself from hexing his arrogant arse. She was in a crowded room and a wand duel would only cause a panic. She had to handle this tactfully, carefully. Plastering an amiable smile on her face, she nudged her way past people on the stairs, deftly avoiding various attempts at conversation and flirtatious advanced by men already well into their cups. When she finally made it to the top, her prey was nowhere to be seen.

_Slippery snake!_

He'd lured her up here for a reason. Clearly, he wanted to talk to her… either that, or he intended on stealing something and defying her to stop him. Well, one way or the other, she intended on stopping him tonight!

She headed away from the guests, down a corridor marked for employees only. It branched off at the end, heading left and right. She went right. The moment she turned down the darkened corridor, she retrieved her wand and summoned her Patronus. An incorporeal, incandescent ball of light appeared (weird… what happened to her otter?). It bobbed in front of her, awaiting instruction.

"Find Harry Potter. Tell him 'The Serpent' is in Nott's Gallérie d'Art. I'm following him. Send back up."

You had to be succinct when dealing with a Patronus, she knew. Their ability to focus wavered as they tended towards frolicking and enjoying their freedom.

The Patronus spell bounced excitedly before floating up and through the ceiling.

Jaw clenched, she took a calming breath and raised her wand. "__Point me to 'The Serpent'___,_" she murmured, casting the Location Charm next.

The tip of her wand lit up and jerked her down the hall where a less impressive flight of stairs was located, presumably leading to the rooftop. Mentally debating the prudence of going after her thief alone, or waiting for her team to arrive, Hermione decided it was imperative to act now. Who knew how if she'd ever get another chance like this?

'The Serpent' was didn't make public appearances, though. She felt apprehensive that he had tonight. What had made him come here, now, and risk getting caught? Sure the gallery's security wasn't up to par with his skills, but he must have known many Ministry workers would be attending tonight. Why take the risk?

"Malfoy was right. I've too much curiosity for my own good," she muttered, braving the stairs.

A Protective Charm on the tip of her tongue, she shoved open the door at the top. It led to a small, garden-decorated terrace, she noted. Cautiously, she walked out.

The night's moon was hidden behind silvery clouds, but the city's lights all around offered adequate lightening for the dark terrace. Hermione did a quick survey, cursing under her breath when she found no one there. Gritting her teeth, she moved away from the door, pointing her lit wand around, hoping to find a trace of her criminal.

The door softly closing behind her was her only warning that she'd made an epic mistake.

*.*.*.*.*  
><em><br>__"___Protego!___"_Hermione quickly cast. A simmering blue light erupted from her wand, surrounding her until she was standing inside a pulsing bubble of energy.

The purple jet of light the thief had cast at her crashed against her shield and dispersed.

Dropping the shield, she ducked to avoid his next spell and cast again. "__Stupefy!"___ she cried._

He casually side-stepped her hex and flicked his wand to lock the door behind him. "Nicely done, my Lioness," he complimented her, smiling wickedly. His voice was slightly muffled by the masks he wore, but she'd recognise that overconfident tone of his anywhere.

For a second, Hermione couldn't help but admire the gorgeously-crafted mask he wore. It was made of leather, brushed with wizard's paint (meaning it magically shimmered), and was designed to replicate the face of an Antipodean Opaleye. In this dim lighting, she still couldn't see what colour his eyes were, much to her frustration.

"Thanks," she brusquely replied. "That's exactly what I needed to hear tonight: praise from a bloody felon who tried to knock me unconscious."

"I know you're cranky because you've missed me and the amazing orgasms I can give you, love, but there's no need for bitchiness. I've missed you, too, if it helps. And it was a Petrification spell, not a Stunning Spell."

His flippant remarks enraged her.

"You condescending, egotistical‒ __Petrificus Totalus___!"_ _she cast, hurling her spell right at him. _

He cast a non-verbal counter that bounced it, and caused it to hit the ground two feet to his left. "Touchy," he teased.

She snarled. _"___Avis Oppugno!"__

He seemed a little shocked and took an unconscious step back as a flock of yellow birds materialised out of thin air and launched themselves at him, angrily chirping. He cursed when they started pecking every piece of skin they could find.

Distracted as he was, it gave her plenty of time to attack. _"___Duro! Diffindo!Incarcerous!"__ She fired the spells in quick succession, hoping to incapacitate him and cut his masks right off his face at the same time.

Teeth bared in a snarl, 'The Serpent' dropped to his knees, avoiding her hexes and casting a quick _"___Finite Incantatum"__ to vanish the silvery ropes that had begun wrapping around his legs. He then leapt towards her, closing the distance between them, did an amazing forward roll manoeuver, and while down there, expertly twisted his body with one leg outstretched in an attempt to knock her legs out from under her. It was like something out of a Kung Fu film.

Instinctively knowing his intentions even as he leapt towards her, Hermione jumped back, avoiding his leg sweep. Unfortunately, she hadn't accounted for the fact that regaining one's balance while wearing four-inch, stiletto heels was practically an impossible task. She let loose a litany of curses as her left heel broke upon landing and she dangerously listed towards that side, thus giving her opponent the perfect opportunity to strike.

Her thief took full advantage of her weakness. Lips curled into a teasing smile, he shoved a hand in his pocket and without preamble threw some kind of black powder into the air. It rapidly diffused for several feet in all directions, blanketing the area in a dark cloud that was impossible to see through.

Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

_Curses! _

Totally impenetrable darkness surrounded Hermione. She couldn't even see her hands or feet, much less locate her perp. "I'm going knock you on your arse when I find you," she threatened in a calm, but angry voice. Kicking her shoes off, she prepared to cast another _Protego_ around herself, expecting an attack.

'The Serpent' usurped her by grabbing her wand out of her hand. She desperately scrabbled after it, grasping at air. When it became apparent that he was beyond her reach, she screamed behind her teeth in frustration and began swearing up a storm. She'd been so easily disarmed!

"Tut tut, my Lioness," her tormentor chastised. "Such language is not befitting a lady."

The voice had come from behind her. Hermione whirled and groped into the darkness, hoping to bump into him and grab hold. "Shut it, you git!" she snarled, trying in vain to catch the man. "Why did you come here anyway?" she demanded into the gloom after several unsuccessful minutes of fumbling about. "Theo wouldn't steal from Muggles. He's featuring many of them tonight in the hopes of launching their works, in fact. So, what do you want?"

A rush of air behind her made her turn. Nothing.

From out of the black smoke, a pair of gloved hands grabbed her shoulders and propelled her forward. She collided with the door that led back downstairs – the one 'The Serpent' had earlier locked. She tried the handle, to no effect – it was sealed shut with magic and without a wand, she wasn't opening it. With a frustrated sigh, Hermione resigned herself to whatever fate her thief had in store for her. She didn't think he'd actually hurt her. He was just trying to get her attention, maybe scare her a little, she figured. She'd play along until the cavalry arrived, stalling for them.

Turning her head, she rested her cheek against the cool metal door. "Why did you want me to follow you up here?" she asked.

A large, warm male body pressed up against her, and the erection pressing into her buttocks was not her imagination. Her assailant's hands roughly grabbed hers and slapped them above her head. He softly murmured a spell against her ear. The energy of his will released, and the next thing she knew, her palms were stuck to the door.

A splinter of fear rushed through her, and for the first time, Hermione actually felt afraid of this man. Had she been mistaken in her assessment of his character and motives? Would he really _hurt_ her, as Harry had claimed he might?

His face nuzzled in close to hers, and she suddenly realised his dragon mask was gone. From her peripheral vision, she noted he still wore the black silk mask and head covering of his usual gig, though. Apparently, no matter how hot he was for her, he wasn't ready to give up his identity to her. "What are you really after, Serpent?" she demanded again, fronting a bravado she wasn't feeling.

"You," he whispered in her ear.

"W-what?" she croaked, her heart pounding now under her ribs.

"You asked me what I was really after," he elaborated, hands mapping a trail down the length of her sides, his touch firm but gentle. _"_My answer is you. _I want you." _He pressed a small kiss to the shell of her ear.

Hermione bit back a whimper, not of fear, but of excitement.

Determined not to show him how he affected her, she bit her tongue and kept quiet.

He took slow, measured breaths as he stroked her body over the thin layer of her dress. "Merlin, you're a gorgeous woman, Granger. This dress... It's made for sin. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to stay put and not move towards you when I first saw you tonight?" He grasped her hips and pulled her lower body back, pressing his erection harder against her bum. "I wanted to take you to the floor right there in the gallery entrance and fuck you deep and hard until you screamed with pleasure – and to hell with the rest of the world."

Hermione tasted blood as she bit her bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a moan. When he rolled his hips, gliding his steely length between her back cheeks, she was unable to prevent her very vocal reaction, though.

Merlin, this was _so fucking wrong_, but damn if it didn't feel so bloody right!

"I should be incensed with you," he stated, his anger unexpectedly reasserting itself. "I watched you tonight. How dare you let other men touch you, flirt with you! You are_ mine, _my Lioness._ Mine, _get it?_"_

Hermione's independent streak reared its head, and her arousal began to simmer with not just need, but now also with a touch of her own resentment. "Presumptuous wanker. I'm not yours."

"Aren't you?" His voice was a soft breathy murmur, ghosting over her sensitive throat. Hermione shivered. "Hmm, your body seems to agree with _me_ on the issue."

"I‒"

"I told you, my Lioness, I won't tolerate you lying to me," he purred dangerously. "Didn't I tell you what your punishment would be for lying?"

Hermione's knees began to uncontrollably shake as she recalled his warning over the phone that night.

_"_I see you remember," he whispered. He gently nipped her earlobe and she trembled with a rush of heady desire. "Alas, we don't have time for that, my love, not if we're going to play in other ways tonight. When I punish you, though—and I _will_, my sweet girl, very soon—I will have the luxury of time to draw out your pleasure. You will feel the repeated sting of my palm and my light lashes upon your naked skin. You will know the weight and thickness of my toys deep within you, and the beautiful ache of my jewellery clamped down upon your sensitive flesh. Your wrists and ankles, your breasts and your hips… all will know the lovely burn of being bound by my silken ropes and leather restraints. Your waist shall know my preference for corseting, and your throat for my collars. You will beg me to let you come as I have you in every way over and over, but I will deny you that right. I will find my fulfilment within every part of you first, before I allow you a single release. That is the punishment that awaits you at my hands, my love. Are you brave enough to accept your fate, I wonder?"

Hermione shut her eyes, shivering. She could not hold back the groan of longing that escaped her throat at the thought of what lay in store for her. She blushed at her wanton desire for it to happen, knowing how very wrong it was.

The Serpent's chuckle was warm. He gently kissed her cheek and pressed his hard, covered erection against her arse more firmly. "So willing and passionate. I knew you had it in you. I knew your heart craved what only I can give you."

He sounded awed, and Hermione felt her cheeks positively flaming now. "S-stop," she pleaded, "we can't do this! This... this is _wrong!_"

"Don't say that," he admonished. "We share a passion that likes of which is unprecedented in most people's lives! I can feel your want for me with your every breath, and I know you can feel how you affect me." He rolled his hips and pressed his pelvis into her again, and there was no question as to the strength of his craving for her. His mouth pressed to her ear as he whispered, "I am as much yours as you are mine, my Lioness. How can you possible think this wrong?"

"How?" She laughed a little hysterically. "Because you are a criminal, and I'm an Auror! What we're doing... It'll destroy my career! Not to mention it's against the law!"

He sighed. "For once, Granger," he murmured, "just once, forget about everyone else. Forget about society's expectations and opinions. Pretend for just a moment that nothing and no one else exists, and tell me: does this‒" Hermione cried out as his hands cupped her breasts and gently squeezed. "‒feel bad? Do I feel wrong for you?"

Some part of her, the part that still maintained a semblance of rationality, noted that he had taken off his leather gloves. The thought of his warm skin on hers sent damp heat pooling into her knickers.

Later, much later, Hermione would think back on this moment and realise that up until this moment, in regards to her personal life, she'd been standing on a ledge, teetering for too many years with indecision. Sometime around the time of the break-up with Ron, she'd ceased taking chances in her romantic life. Every man she'd dated after him had been 'safe' and there had been no possibility of her laying her heart on the line with any of them. This night, however, was a defining moment, just the same as the night she'd walked into that BDSM club and had willed herself into someone else's arms, trusting a stranger to give her what she'd needed. This was a moment that would require her to let go of her fears and to be true to her heart's desires – to give herself permission to accept pleasure and joy, rather than allow other people's expectations and opinions (just as 'The Serpent' had stated) to define her life's path. This was a beginning, if she'd let it be.

Hermione took a deep breath… and jumped.

"No, you don't feel wrong at all. In fact, you feel so perfectly right for me that it frightens me," she tremulously admitted.

His hands froze, and he went stone-still behind her.

"You're right. I _do_ need you," she fully surrendered. "I need you until I can't breathe some days! Would you… do as you've promised, if I were to trust you with everything?"

Before her brain could chastise her on how desperate she sounded, her thief let out a shuddering, relieved breath. He lovingly nuzzled her throat and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her temple, accepting the responsibility she'd just laid at his feet.

Silently, with reverent precision, he pushed the satin fabric of her bodice aside...

**~*~*~*~*~(cut scene)~*~*~*~*~**

An unidentifiable amount of time later, Hermione came back to her full senses. Logically, she knew she should feel disgusted with what she had done—he was a stranger and a hunted man, and she a member of law enforcement—and she fully expected to be crushed by guilt now that her brain was not clouded with lust. But it wasn't. No guilt weighed down upon, although she knew her actions were inexcusable. Instead, she felt a weight being lifted from her shoulders; a burden she hadn't even realised she was carrying was suddenly missing. She felt lighter of soul, much as she had in the moments back at that BDSM club, right before her shame had caught up to her. This time, though, there was none of that to ruin the high. There was only a sense of completion.

She'd found her other half.

She smiled when 'The Serpent' slowly pulled back to look at her, a curious glimmer in his eyes and a timid smile on his face, as if he hadn't just dry humped her against a wall. The darkness surrounding them provided cover and privacy, so Hermione let her guard down, and allowed him to see how she really felt. She was sated, and happy, and _free_.

"I expect Potter and a horde of Aurors will burst through the door soon," he commented in a tired voice. His hands were still on her thighs, rubbing small circles on her ultra-sensitive skin.

"Most likely, yes," she confirmed, stroking his back in a similar fashion.

"I should go," he remarked, watching her closely for his cue.

"I'd think so, unless you wish to spend a few years in Azkaban." She touched her painted nails lightly to his mouth and traced them. "I just wish we'd had more time."

His shoulders relaxed, as if an unspoken question had been answered for him, and he kissed her fingertips. "Although playing guard and prisoner _is _a fantasy of mine," he teasingly drawled, "no, I can't say I'd enjoy a stint in Azkaban."

"Well, then," she said and sighed with disappointment, "you should go."

"Yes, it would seem."

Neither moved.

Hermione knew that by letting him go tonight, she'd become an accomplice to his criminal activities. However, after quickly mulling it over, she'd decided she didn't care. Yes, it was a conflict of interest, but she had to agree that what this man was doing was setting things to right – things the Ministry _should_ have been doing, rather than pandering to campaign contributors and political alliances. The stolen Muggle artefacts should, by all rights, go back to their original owners. The real thieves in this case—the pure-bloods who had acquired the items under questionable circumstances to begin with—were the real criminals here.

In a way, 'The Serpent' was doing her job properly in righting the wrongs in the world.

The muffled noises of people approaching from downstairs, getting louder as they approached, caused her to tense.

"Ah, the cavalry have arrived," her lover said, his mouth twisting into a mocking smirk. "Seems our time has come to an end once more, my Lioness." He cupped her chin and tilted it up so their eyes met. "I will see you again, however."

"Merlin, I hope so," she admitted.

He smirked and dropped a hard kiss on her parted mouth, gently disentangling himself from her tight embrace. He took a step back after setting her on her own two feet again and steadying her with a gentle hand. Hungry eyes raked down her body, memorising the way she looked. His smile became a cocky, strangely familiar smirk.

Placing his lips next to her ear, he whispered to her, "I'm sorry."

She frowned. "What for?" she whispered back, right as the sound of feet pounded up the stairs behind her.

She felt the tip of his wand press lightly under her sternum.

_"___Stupefy.___"_


	16. Chapter 15

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

_Chapter 15_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

"May I come in?"

Hermione had her head bowed over the mess of folders, files and parchments on her desk, and was ready to snap at whoever it was that dared disrupt her while she was re-organising her office. Her irritation melted away, however, as she recognised Harry lingering in her doorway, waiting for permission to enter.

"Don't be silly, Harry, come in!" She pushed a curl behind her ear, and motioned to a side buffet where her tea service was always to be found. "Tea?"

"No, thank you," her friend politely declined. He walked into her office and shut the door behind him – not a good sigh. Warily, she watched him cross the room and take his usual seat in front of her desk, slumping into it like a man exhausted from the political miasma of work. He pushed his glasses up on his nose—a tick she recognised as meaning he was about to get serious—and fixed her with a penetrative stare.

Hermione sat back in her seat, organising forgotten, and gave her best friend her full attention.

"Kingsley wants me to change your mind about giving up 'The Serpent' case," he said. His sharp green eyes were penetrating and watchful of her reaction.

She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "Ah," she replied, nodded with understanding. "I expected this, actually. He didn't take it very well when I told him I was recusing myself from the case earlier."

"Yeah, I gathered that." Harry frowned, looking a bit frustrated. "What I don't get is why I had to find out you were leaving the case and transferring out immediately from Kingsley. Forget the fact we're friends, am I, or am I not your superior? Don't you think you should have come to me first, since this is a matter for the Head Auror to deal with?"

"Technically, you're correct," she hedged, having expected this confrontation as well, and uneasy with the inevitable conclusion.

"Technically?" He stressed the word, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

"Yes, Harry,_ technically," _she explained. "Normally, I'd have come to you first, but this situation is somewhat convoluted."

"How so?" He was upset, and yes, clearly hurt. Her going directly to the Minister first had, at the very least, reflected badly upon his authority, she knew. It also didn't say much for the state of their friendship, however.

She tried to explain it in terms that would be the least painful for everyone. "First, it was Kingsley who had initially wanted me to take this case, not you. He was the pressure behind it. Second, I already knew you wouldn't put up much of a fuss about this, as you _wanted _me to give up 'The Serpent's' case a week ago. Third, I needed to ask him to reinstate my transfer to MLE's Administration Services, effective immediately. He's the only one with power to do so." She shrugged, trying to keep a light tone to the discussion so Harry wouldn't take it personally and fall into one of his black moods. "Ergo, the most logical course was to go straight to Kingsley, as he would was the sticking point in all of this_and_ he has the most authority over me. He needed to be made to understand and accept my resignation, and to be asked to stop blocking my advancement." She gave him her most sincere apologetic look. "I'm sorry if my going over your head hurt you, but that was not my intention, I assure you. It was simply the most expedient solution."

Harry visibly deflated. "Kingsley's adamant you continue working with on the case, you know. He's desperate, and asked me to let you know that anything you may want, you can have. I'm pretty sure he'd have offered his first born, if he'd had children."

"Just call me Rumpelstiltskin," she dryly muttered.

They shared a glance and the tension in the room suddenly burst in a most unexpected manner: laughter. Great bellies full of the stuff.

"Oh, Merlin, I really needed that," Hermione said five minutes later, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "Kingsley can be persuasive when he wants, but unfortunately I have no intention of changing my mind."

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked, nervously running a hand through his messy hair.

"Sure."

"Why _are_ you giving it up?" He held his hands up in an 'I meant no offence' manner. "Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled you are, but until two nights ago, you were insistent on handling the case yourself. What changed?" Suddenly sitting straighter in his seat, her best friend scowled. "Did _he_ do something to you at Nott's gallery?"

_If you count the fact that our wily thief dry-humped me against the door and gave me two intense orgasms as 'something', then yes, he did. Quite spectacularly, she thought. She _wisely decided **not** to divulge that particular piece of information to her over-protective and temperamental friend, however.

Honestly, she was still a little sore with 'The Serpent' for stunning her, but she the rational part of her recognised that doing so was the only course of action that would have kept suspicion off her. If her wand was tested, they'd see she had duelled him, and would naturally assume she'd lost and been stunned into unconsciousness, allowing him to slip away.

When Harry had _Enervated _her, though, she'd been spitting mad. Her temper had eventually calmed when she'd noted no one commented on her appearance, assuming her mussed state a result of the fight. After visiting the loo, she'd further been relieved to find out her lover had thoughtfully repaired her knickers, the broken heel of her shoe, _and_ had glamoured his love bites so there would be no evidence of hanky-panky. For a shameless cad, he'd been incredibly considerate to her reputation, her fashion sense, and her dignity.

Of course, her post-incident report had been carefully censored for any reference to inappropriate fondling and snogging. She hadn't lied, _per se,_ but she'd twisted the facts so that there hadn't been so much as a sniff of evidence to suggest they'd done more than magically duke it out on that rooftop.

After she'd finished the report, she'd filed it, and then headed straight to the Minister's office to let Kingsley know of her withdrawal from the case. Her explanation had been the simple truth: that after last night, she'd reconsidered the situation and had come to the conclusion that as a Muggle-born witch, she'd been having doubts for some time regarding just how illegal the motivations of 'The Serpent' were – specifically, she felt that the return of stolen Muggle property to its rightful owners wasn't really a crime, and that the _real _criminals were those who had lifted the items from the Muggles to start. She explained that she didn't feel that she could be impartial in the matter any longer.

When a sputtering Kingsley had asked her who better to head-up the investigation, she'd fingered Anthony as her replacement, and proceeded to make an iron-clad case that he was more than qualified to take over.

When, in a last ditch attempt to change her mind, Kingsley had threatened to permanently freeze her transfer to become Deputy Head of MLE, Hermione had coolly informed him that the French Ministry had attempted to head-hunt her for the same position within their own organisation… and that theirs was an open-ended offer with a better benefits package.

Needless to say, she'd gotten her way, and so the case was no longer in her hands. As such, she really didn't need to discuss it further – shouldn't, really. However, this was Harry asking her, not as her former boss, but as her friend, and that made all the difference.

"No, he didn't hurt me, Harry," she finally answered his question, skirting the edge of it. "We duelled, I lost my balance, and he used Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder to blind me and stun me."

Truth, all of it... simply edited.

Harry, gullible sweet Harry, nodded thoughtfully. "And this made you reconsider?"

"Partially," she replied. "I told you that I was having serious doubts after gazing at the exhibition's pieces."

She had. No lie there. She'd been seriously disturbed by the revelation of the wrongness of her case as she'd walked past the displays of Muggle and Muggle-born art hanging on Theo's walls. Her run-in with 'The Serpent' had only been the proverbial nail in the coffin, as after what they'd done together, she'd realised she'd lost all objectivity to the case. Not that she regretted that fact – because she didn't.

Still, convincing Harry was going to be a tough road, as he was rather shrewd in ferreting out truth. She just had to make him understand the half of her decision that was defensible.

"Honestly, Harry, Theo's show was an eye-opener. His exhibit treated Muggle and Muggle-born artists with the same equality as half-blood and pure-blood artists, highlighting beauty and praising uniqueness, regardless of origin. What the Greengrasses, the Goyles, the Averys, and the others did by stealing Muggle artefacts was meant to demean them, sending a silent message to them that they are unworthy of private rights and property ownership – unworthy of being a part of the human race, much less this community. You know as well as I do that the wizarding _beau monde_ continue to look down on people like me, treating us as inferior creatures and untouchable, and that they view what we own as theirs for the taking. That night at the gallery, I realised that what our thief was doing was actually the just and right thing to do. He's doing what our Ministry won't, so mired down as it is by its politics and pandering. By giving back their stolen property, he's showing the world that Muggles and Muggle-borns are human beings, too, deserving of dignity and equality. That's something our own Ministry won't dare to do out of fear of political reprisal – and_that _is the real crime in all of this."

"And the thief just showed up to, what? Mock you for not having caught him yet?" he asked.

"Perhaps." Nervously, she tapped her freshly manicured fingernails on her desk. "I think, though, all he really wanted that night was to let me know he's not afraid of me, and that he liked our cat-and-mouse game."

...Which he did. Very much, she thought, as she recalled the deep groan he'd given when he'd come.

"Then this is exactly what you wanted!" Harry's expression was one of mixed incredulity and wariness. "I thought you'd agreed with Kingsley that 'The Serpent' fixating on you was a good plan to catching him. Use it to your advantage, remember? Retire on a high note, having caught a slippery criminal. Doesn't that serve your interests more?"

"How can you say that?" she snapped. Seeing his hurt look, she forced herself to take a step back and try again, albeit calmer this time. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bark at you. It's just... do you really believe that I'm that much of a political animal that I could overlook this injustice? On the demand of a bunch of rich, influential, narcissistic bullies we're hunting a man who's actually doing the decent and right thing. Don't you find that wrong?"

Harry jaw clenched. "Of course I do! But until we can prove those items were stolen from Muggles initially, and not legitimately procured, our thief is just that... and he has to be stopped. We need you on this case."

Firmly, she shook her head. "I can't. Aside from the reasons I've already listed, there are other factors... The press and its incessant paparazzi-like hounding, for example. The reason I chose to transfer away from this office in the first place was to escape all the public scrutiny. I thought–"

"–they'd give it a rest when you weren't actively hunting down bad guys," Harry concluded with a sigh.

Hermione nodded.

"Yeah, I get what you mean. But, Hermione, no matter how much you hate it, this is our life, you know? Like it or not, _we _took down Voldemort. We are war heroes, and considering how small our society is, we are practically the only source of gossip they have – well, us and those on the 'Most Eligible' list. Only families like the Malfoys and Zabinis get as much publicity as we do."

"I know, Harry! But from the moment it was announced I took over from Dawlish, they've been a right nightmare! Did you read today's paper?"

Harry cringed, so clearly he had.

She picked up her copy from her desk, glanced at it, and tossed it back down with disgust. A _Daily Prophet_ journalist, who happened to have also attended Theo's soiree, had written a six-page article about 'The Serpent's' infatuation with her, the lead Investigator on his case, and that their 'secret, forbidden relationship' was actually quite romantic. The woman had to have been taking her cue from Mrs. Avery, clearly.

"Between that and my own misgivings... do you now understand why I changed my mind?" she asked her friend.

Harry nudged his glasses up as he rubbed at his eyes. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Good, so... can you please let Kingsley know that his attempt to get you to dissuade me has failed, and I won't be moved on the matter?"

Her best friend stood up, and smoothed the wrinkles from his robes. His grin was sheepish. "I will. He'll have to do with Anthony. Merlin knows the man is almost as smart as you."

"Thanks, Harry. And... please try to find out more about those artefacts, if you can. If they are stolen, perhaps you can find a way to convince the division as to who the real thieves are and find it in you to cut 'The Serpent' free."

"I'll try."

It wasn't much of a guarantee, but as it came from Harry, she knew it meant he'd give it his best effort.

Smiling softly at her friend, she stood up, circled her desk, and reached out to give him a tight, thankful hug. He seemed a little hesitant to return it, at first, but then his arms came around her and he buried his face into the lee of her shoulder.

His breathing seemed to catch as he spoke her name.

"Hmm?" she asked, leaning back a bit to look him in the eye. Something was clearly bothering him. "What is it, Harry?"

His tall frame gave a shudder, and as his vivid green eyes met hers, for the first time, she _saw_.

Her smile slipped from her face.

No, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening! Not possible. They were friends. _Friends!_

She pulled back, bumping into one of the chairs situated before her desk, and nearly toppled back into it. Harry was there in an instant, moving so fast she hadn't seen him. He caught her wrist, yanked her back towards him to prevent her fall, reversing her direction... and then she was in his arms again.

"God, 'Mione, I– I can't do this anymore!"

He sounded like he was in agony.

_Please, please no, _she prayed, stunned by the revelation that her best friend was... that he was in lo–... that he had feelings for her beyond a simple, platonic sense.

When had this happened? Why had she never seen it?

She pushed back, out of his arms. He let her go, turning her body at the last moment so she'd avoid falling back into that same bloody chair. She scrambled backwards on her heels, trying not to trip over the carpet or her own suddenly uncoordinated feet.

"Hermione, I–" Harry looked away, clenched his jaw. Turning his face to the side, he ran a hand through his messy, dark hair. His free hand was fisted at his side, lightly shaking as he fought for control.

They'd promised each other that year Ron had left them, when they'd been alone in that godforsaken tent for months with only each other for comfort and company. They'd promised never to look at each other like this – to keep it strictly friends. They'd never crossed that line, and she'd never allowed herself to consider him in that way.

Until now.

***.*.*.*.***

Dear Godric, this was a disaster!

When he'd walked to her office earlier, Harry hadn't had any plans to confess his feelings to Hermione. Feeling elated and horny in her presence was the norm, so he'd thought he'd adequately prepared for what he'd see when he opened the door. He'd been wrong.

She'd been spectacularly sexy as she'd bent over her desk in a snug, knee-length skirt (one that perfectly outlined her deliciously round arse). When she'd turned to him, he'd noted two things: one, her lipstick had matched her top, and two, the red wrap-blouse had dipped dangerously low in the front, its plunging neckline allowing him a tantalizing glimpse of her rounded breasts spilling over a lacy, matching bra. And her legs... Merlin, her legs! They'd looked a mile long in that skirt, especially when paired with those matching, peep-toe nude coloured pumps.

One glance and he'd gone rock hard, tempted to drop to his knees before her and lick a path straight up, starting at her ankle and ending between her thighs. And now... now she'd gone and hugged him with her softly-scented, curvaceous body, and had accidentally pressed her hip against his erection, and he was _ruined_!

Even after Ron had urged him to tell her, warning him that he'd lose his chance if he didn't make a move soon, Harry had still maintained the façade of platonic friendship, knowing it's what she wanted. What they'd agreed to long ago, after they'd had an 'almost' brush back during that year on the run, in the tent one night. He'd been so good about avoiding thinking of her in a sexual manner... until recently.

Now everything was about to crumble around them. His feelings wouldn't be contained any longer, and Harry prayed to God that Hermione would forgive him for being so weak, and yes, perhaps even consent to considering giving them a chance.

"Harry?"

Not an outright rejection, but a question...

Her uncertainty was enough to let him know there was a chance.

With a lusty growl that shocked him as much as her, he closed the distance between them, took her back into his arms, and sealed his fate with the sealing of their mouths.

_Please,_ he silently begged. _Kiss me back!_

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione's whole world turned upside down, inside out, and crashed into her with a jarring, blinding pain that seemed to reach into her very heart and cause it to explode in panic.

Harry was kissing her.

Harry was kissing her.

Harry was _kissing_ her.

He'd broken his promise. They weren't _just_ friends.

Did that matter? She'd always known, hadn't she? A little part of her had guessed. That night in the tent, they'd almost done exactly this. Had she really, truly believed they could go back to being strictly platonic after that? No... No, she'd known better. She'd just hid from it. She'd pretended, and eventually, as time moved on, she'd let herself forget.

Now... God, now it would be so easy to accept this, wouldn't it? Harry was handsome, successful, good-hearted, and clearly not intimidated by her success. People looked up to him, he was politically going places, and being in a relationship with him would be met with enthusiasm and approval by most of the wizarding world (not to mention her parents, and probably Ron, too, as he'd been not so covert in his sly innuendos where she and Harry were concerned), and... WOW, was Harry a good kisser!

But... but...

A pair of silvery, wicked eyes flashed before her. The memory of another man—the one who knew her on a soul-deep level and whose touch shook her to her core—was enough to remind her of what she'd be giving up if she went with the safe option before her.

And then there was Ginny, who was still very much in love with her ex. Hermione couldn't betray that long-time friendship, even though her girlfriend and Harry had been broken up for years.

Finally, but equally as important as all the rest, there were her _needs _– the ones she never spoke aloud (the ones 'The Serpent' had recognised as only a kindred spirit might). According to Ginny, Harry was a very gentle and thoughtful lover, steady and sweet, but unimaginative and vanilla. She knew he would be repulsed if she asked him to tie her up utilizing ancient Shibari techniques and to use her body as he pleased, or begged him on her knees to have him fuck her mouth hard. Her multi-speed tickler-vibrator at home would probably send him screaming from the room. And forget the idea of Swinging or cuckolding with permission; he was a monogamist, so he'd never be into variety sex, and he'd never allow another man or woman to fuck her if she became his girlfriend, much less sit back and enjoy the show.

The fact was, Harry could fulfill her desires for a loyal mate on the surface, but he'd never be capable of giving her what she truly needed to bring out the woman deep within. He'd never sexually satisfy her.

So, the question remained: was she willing to be someone else, to sublimate a piece of her true self and give up some of her needs for the sake of a 'safe' relationship?

No, she wasn't. Maybe she was being greedy, but Hermione truly believed she needed a trustworthy, stable man who was also a sexually exciting partner in bed, or a part of her would always be withered and resentful. She didn't think it was impossible to find such a man, either... just not here, in Harry's arms.

Wrenching away, Hermione tried in vain to catch her breath. "Harry–" She turned her head away when he tried to catch her lips again. "No, stop! I can't do this. _I'm sorry, but I can't!__"_

He stared at her with wide, wounded eyes. "Why not?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply.

"Yes, Granger, _why not_?"

Heart lodged firmly in her throat, Hermione's words never made it past her frozen lips. She turned slowly towards her office door, which was thrown open. Standing in the opening, dressed in one of his perfectly tailored suits, hair adorably mussed and eyes two chips iron grey, was Draco Malfoy.

He looked furious.

Bloody hell.


	17. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **For the full version of this chapter - including the explicit content - please, check my livejournal; link in my profile page.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

_Chapter 16_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Without waiting for a reply to his question, Draco crossed the room, tossed a folder on Hermione's desk, and turned on his heel to walk back out. "My apologies for _interrupting_," he sneered. "I did knock, but evidently you were too busy to notice."

Hermione's brain finally caught up with her just as he was out of sight. She pushed against Harry and stepped back. He dropped his arms, granting her freedom. "I'm sorry," she whispered, glancing once at his pale face before turning and running after Draco.

Merlin, the man could walk fast! He was already down the opposite end of the corridor, heading for the elevators. "Malfoy, wait!" she called out to him. She tried to appear casual as she practically ran to catch him before the doors closed, nodding to curious passers-by in the corridor.

Throwing an annoyed look at her over his shoulder, he entered the lift and jammed his hand over the control panel without waiting for her. Cursing at him under her breath, she gave up the pretence of casualness and outright sprinted to stop the doors from closing. With a little jump, she managed to wiggle her way into the small lift just before the doors shut.

Breathing hard, she couldn't help a triumphant smile as she demurely smoothed her skirt and turned to look at the only other occupant. Malfoy watched her with icy detachment, his lips pressed in displeasure and his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. Obviously, he wasn't happy his escape hadn't quite worked out the way he'd planned it.

"Didn't you hear me?" she asked, careful not to let her nervousness show.

"I did."

"Then why didn't you wait?" Hermione felt her eye twitch. This man was impossible when he was in one of his black moods.

Malfoy's brows lifted mockingly. "Why should I? As far as I know, we have nothing to discuss, especially as you've given up 'The Serpent's' case."

Gritting her teeth against a hot-mouthed retort, Hermione tried to keep her tone conciliatory. "I wanted to apologise for what you walked in on. It wasn't what it look–"

"Oh, spare me the lies, Granger," he snapped, suddenly furious. "I think it was pretty self-explanatory what I walked in on. You were kissing Potter, end of story."

"No, _he_ was kissing _me_."

"Semantics. You were lip-locked for a while before you noticed me." He gave her a cruel smirk. "I don't understand why you felt the need to come after me, though, to offer explanations. I don't want or need them, and I'm honestly surprised you bothered. It's not as if I care who you decide to fuck in your office." He crudely eyed her up and down. "Although, given how much press you generate, I'd have expected better sense of you regarding fraternizing with colleagues, especially during regular office hours. What if someone other than me had seen you, Ms. Deputy Head? Wouldn't the gossips just love to know that their years of backhanded whispers about you and Potter are actually true?"

Flushing in indignation, Hermione pinned him with a hard stare. "Don't be such a bloody hypocrite, Malfoy. I've seen you in a _much_ more compromising position, remember? It wouldn't be any better for your reputation if it got out that you shag your way through your pool of eligible pure-blood secretaries, either."

He lost his fake smile, and glared back at her. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded with a hiss, taking a menacing step toward her.

Hands on her hips, she didn't cower in the face of his ire. Instead, she straightened her spine and fixed him with a cold look. "Doesn't feel good, does it?" she challenged, pointedly ignoring his threat. "You have some nerve! You stand here all high and mighty, acting affronted and lecturing me on the merits of professionalism in the workplace when we both know what you saw meant nothing!"

"Oh, so now 'it meant nothing'. What happened to 'it's not what it looked like'?" he asked mockingly.

"It _wasn't _what it looked like – I didn't initiate that kiss, I didn't ask for it, it happened. And for the record, it didn't cause me to want to drop my knickers on the spot, as you so crudely insinuated. Harry and I are only friends, and that's all we'll ever be on my side of things." She stopped, realising what she was doing (was she really explaining herself to him, of all people?), and reversed course with a negligent wave of a hand. "But you're right, Malfoy: this is none of your business, and I don't need to explain myself, my thoughts, or my actions, least of all to _you._"

With that, she turned her back to him, viciously pressing the button to hurry them to whichever floor was their final destination, and remained silent. Behind her, she could feel Draco's stare like a weight between her shoulder blades.

Once the heavy doors opened, Hermione stepped out the elevator and walked away with head held high, all the while looking for the nearest loo so she could go have a good, frustrated cry in private.

*.*.*.*.*

_"Mew."_

Hermione absentmindedly rubbed her cat's belly, eyes unfocused as she stared in a dumb-stupor at her telly. It was nearing midnight, and sleep still eluded her.

Today had been a very stressful day. It had only taken an hour for news of her "romance" with Harry to spread throughout the Ministry (all those nosy passers-by in the corridor had probably started gossiping the minute they'd seen Harry follow her out of her office and chase her down the hall, putting two-and-two together after noticing her red lipstick all over his mouth). Her avoidance of her best friend after that all afternoon was just as incriminating, she was sure.

By the time she'd left for the day, the _Evening Prophet_'s Pink Section had been filled with articles about her supposed history with Harry – when they'd begun seeing each other (in secret, of course), quotes taken from people she'd never actually met in her life on how the two of them gave lingering looks throughout the Ministry hallways all the time, veiled accusation that it had been Harry's reputation that had launched Hermione's successful bid for the Deputy Head position, speculation on how Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys would take the news of 'the betrayal', and a spread with pictures of her and Harry (dubbed 'The Golden Couple') spanning from their first year of Hogwarts to a lunch date they'd had two days ago (she was quick to note that Ron, who had also been there for lunch, was suspiciously missing from the photo, doctored out).

On top of all the rumours flying around, people had actually had the gall to walk up to her and ask inappropriate questions about her relationship with their boss/co-worker/The Chosen One/etc. And Ron had been no help, uncomfortably telling her she'd need to speak with Harry directly to clear things up.

The most nerve-wracking thing of all, however, was worrying about Ginny's reaction.

Hermione's first act when she'd entered her flat tonight was to telephone her friend. Half an hour later and thirty-seven unanswered calls, she'd given up. Clearly, Gin had heard the news and wouldn't allow her the chance just yet to rebut. She knew after her friend calmed down, she'd demand an explanation from her directly, but until then, Hermione had to stew in her guilt and sadness alone.

Feeling tears threatening to spill – _again_ (hadn't she cried enough after the showdown with Malfoy?), she rubbed her eyes angrily.

Why, oh why, had Harry kissed her? What had he hoped to achieve by doing so, aside from hurting a lot of people – himself and her, included?

Stifling a sob, she gathered the softly mewing Crookshanks in her arms and hid her face in his fur. The part-Kneazle, perhaps sensing its mistress' distress, licked her face and nuzzled against her bosom.

The abrupt ringing of her phone caused both human and cat to jump. Not bothering to wipe the few tears that had leaked from her eyes, she reached out and grabbed her cordless phone. Before hitting the answer button, she cleared her throat; whoever was calling, she didn't want them to know she had been crying.

"Hello?"

_"__Is it true_?"

Hermione sat up straighter, recognising the voice. A flutter of nervousness unsettled her stomach. "H-hello."

"_Don't make me repeat my questions, my Lioness, not tonight."_

'The Serpent' sounded enraged, which was a first. Every other time they had talked, he was either flirting with her, or teasing her.

"So, you've seen the papers, and plan to interrogate me, too. All right then, to which overly-sensationalised accusation are you referring?" she asked. "I want to be sure I answer properly."

Who did he think he was?

"_Don't play coy. Did you or did you not kiss Harry fucking Potter?" _he snarled, and a loud, meaty _bang _sounded from his end. He'd slammed his palm down onto something hard, obviously.

"I'll tell you when I've told everyone: _he _kissed _me_."

"_You allowed it–"_

"Of course I allowed it!" she snapped, outraged. "Not only is he my best friend and I had to take into account his feelings, but Harry is a good man. Before I irrevocably broke his heart, I had to consider if a relationship with him was possible! I had to at least allow myself the chance to think this through, before deciding to deny him."

"_Why?" _he roared. "_You __know __he'll never give you what you want! You know he's even more wrong for you than his red-headed sidekick was! How can you possibly contemplate a relationship with Potter?"_

"What's it to you?" she screamed, losing what little control she had over her emotions. Her day had been trying enough, but now _this_?

She jumped to her feet, Crooks ran for his favourite hiding spot under her bed, and she let loose all of the pent up anger she'd been holding back all afternoon.

"For God's sake, I don't even know your real name, so who are you to demand I not see other men and save myself only for you – especially when you're completely _persona non grata_ to the rest of the law-abiding world?"

She began pacing back and forth, furious at herself, at him, at Harry, at the unfairness of the world. It all spilled from her mouth, a volcano of emotion erupting at long last.

"What part of 'you are currently being hunted by the best Aurors in the country' don't you understand? You're not just considered a petty criminal any longer. The Minister wants you brought in on a leash and he intends to throw whatever manpower he has at you to run you to ground." She choked on another sob, forcing herself to continue. "I'm not on your case anymore, but I'll be Deputy Head of the entire MLE starting next week. Do you understand what I'm saying? I'll be the one ultimately responsible for your prosecution. Someday, perhaps in a year or ten, _you are going to be caught_, and I can't... I'll _have to do my job_! I'll have to put you away."

Lord, this was hard. The weight of this bizarre, unexpected attraction was such a heavy burden to bear that Hermione wasn't sure her shoulders could lift anymore. 'The Serpent' had opened her eyes to all the possibilities that called to the woman buried deep within her soul—to the part of her that craved excitement, abandonment, and sought that elusive once-in-a-lifetime romance—but now... now she had to shut that door and give it all up, or she'd be buried along with him when he was brought to justice.

She'd been through a lot of difficult experiences in her short life—the war and its losses, the death of her father to cancer not too long ago, Ron and her deciding they weren't right for each other and mutually agreeing to split—but letting go of this man and the dream he'd represented ranked right up there alongside the worst pain she'd ever known.

"Do you want me?" he asked, softly, his voice trembling.

"Yes," she admitted in a pained whisper. "I want you so much I can't breathe or think straight some days... but I can't keep doing what we're doing. Not only is it illegal, but it's meaningless." Slumping down into a nearby cosy chair, she began crying in earnest now. The hand over her eyes became drenched by her tears. "In the end, we... we can never have this... this dream. We have no future."

Silence greeted her pronouncement, and Hermione felt her heart breaking in two at his inability to either accept or deny her claim.

Lingering between choices was never her style. She was the type to need a fast resolution, so she took the decision from him and made it herself.

"You're a fantasy, my Serpent, a wish and a dream. What I need... is someone solid who will be here every day. Someone with a face I can see and a name I can say aloud. I can't have that with you. So, please... _please _don't contract me again."

"_Hermione..."_

"Goodbye."

She hung up, tossed the phone onto a side table, and curled up into a ball in the chair. She wept into the corduroy-upholstered cushion until she exhausted herself, and fell asleep with tears staining her cheeks.

***.*.*.*.***

"_Shh, my Lioness, don't cry. I'm here."_

_Soft, familiar hands caressed Hermione's face, softly wiping her tears and tucking her unruly hair back behind her ears. She whimpered in her sleep as a solid, male body slid into her bed with her._

_When had he arrived? When had she moved to her bed? _

_His hands, so careful with her, encircled her and brought her closer to his warm body. He buried his face in her hair, nuzzling her. _

"_I'm sorry, my love. Forgive me. I always seem to hurt you, even when I don't mean to." He caressed a path down her waist, over her hip, and began to massage the small of her back with one hand. His touch was that of a lover's, intimate, yet it lacked lust. It wasn't meant to stir desire, but to soothe and calm._

"_I didn't want to kiss him," Hermione murmured against his chest, explaining her position once again, just so he'd understand and accept it. "But I didn't want to hurt him, either. He's my best friend."_

"_I know, baby. Merlin, I know." _

_He hugged her tighter, crooning a soft lullaby to her. His voice was deep, but melodic and soothing._

"_Mm," she hummed, pressing her nose to his throat and smelling his heady, clean scent. He felt so _real. _"Not fighting with you for a change is nice."_

_A quiet chuckle._ _"Yes, it is, isn't it?"_

"_Hmm," she answered, placing her hand on his chest and feeling his heart beating strong, steady. _

"_I know you, Granger. This isn't just about us or that blasted kiss. There's something... no, someone else who's hurt you. Who was it? Tell me."_

_"I don't want to talk about it," she admitted, petulantly scrunching up her nose and remembering her fight in the elevator with a certain blond prosecutor. _

"_Please, tell me." He kissed her neck and traced a finger around her bellybutton, making her shiver, attempting to coerce an answer from her with a seductive grace that was beginning to leave her breathless. _

_She sighed, blinking sleepily up at him. Her sight was blurry, and the inky darkness of her room didn't help her, but she could swear he was not wearing his mask._

"It was him

,_" she told him._

"_Him? Him, who?"_

"_It's always him, isn't it?" she mumbled to herself._

"_Who is it? Tell me, lovely, and I'll deal with him," her thief promised._

"_No, don't hurt him! He's a git, but he doesn't deserve being physically pummelled... even if there are times I want to do that, too." _

"_Tell me his name. I promise not to hurt him, but I want to know who he is and what he did to upset you so."_

_Perhaps she could tell him her secret – risk it, see where it took them... see if he'd confess, too. "His name is Draco Malfoy. We used to go to school together, and now we work together in MLE. And everything he does upsets me – always has. I thought, however, that we were becoming... friends, of a sort. After today, though, I'm not so sure it wasn't all in my head."_

_Her thief stayed strangely quiet as she wiggled closer to him. _

"_Draco told me– He implied– He thinks I'm shagging Harry. He said people think I'm doing it to extort favours and promote my career." Tears leaked from her eyes, and she didn't bother to cloak the pain in her voice as she confessed._

"_Lioness, people will always talk. There's no need to be upset by their... foolishness, especially when they're... jealous."_

"_He's not just some random co-worker or a stranger. It's... different with him."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I like him," she finally murmured, hiding her face in his chest, hoping she wasn't making a mistake by telling him. "I like him in a way I shouldn't."_

"_You... like... Draco Malfoy."_

_Mutely, she nodded._

"_He's been nothing but a horrible git to you!"_

_She played along, as clearly he wasn't ready to admit anything yet._ _"I know he has. Believe me, I do! I don't why I feel this for him, but I do... and I don't want to like him, or dream of him, or hurt whenever I see him with other women but I do! And I hate myself for it!"_

_One of his hands trailed up her back to tangle in her hair, and he pulled back her head to expose her plump lips. Carefully, lovingly he touched them with his own, but didn't kiss her. Although it was too dark to see his features clearly, she envisioned his silvery, wondering gaze would be locked on hers, holding her captive, as it always did. _

"_Have you ever thought that he might like you back?" he asked, lips brushing against hers with every word._

_Hermione gave a sigh of disbelief. "Draco only dates women like Astoria. I'm nowhere near that pretty."_

"_You're not pretty, no. You're beautiful." _

_Before she could rebuke his statement, he captured her lips in a kiss so sweet that her insides flip-flopped. Fiercely, joyfully, Hermione entangled her fingers in his hair and delighted in the knowledge that she'd been right: he'd worn no mask tonight. He'd come to her without it, having heard her despair earlier on the phone about his hidden identity. Clearly, he was not yet ready to reveal all, but this was a start._

_She relished the silky feeling of his hair sliding through her hands, sighing in pleasure as his tongue slipped inside her mouth, tasting her. Their kiss very soon ignited that familiar heat between them, and she whimpered for more, arching her back in a silent cue for him to take them higher._

_Message received, he grabbed the back of her knee and pulled it up and around his hips, wedging his wide body between her thighs.  
><em>

**_~*~*~*~*~(cut scene)~*~*~*~*~_**

_As she lay still in the afterglow, the despair she'd felt earlier was replaced by a sated, warm serenity that made her feel lazy and sleepy. She hardly noticed as her conscientious lover returned her clothing to a state of decency, or when he pulled the covers up to her chin, tucking her in._

_She turned onto her right side, her favourite sleeping position, and the bed dipped as 'The Serpent' settled behind her, her back to his front._

"_Sleep, my Lioness. You need your rest."_

_Huffing, she wiggled her bottom against his iron-hard erection, hoping to change his mind and go for another round in a bit._

_His honest laughter stirred the hair on her nape and made her feel a spark of joy inside and out._

"_Won't work," he whispered in her ear. "I have more self-restraint than your exes – something you'll find out soon enough."_

"_Meanie," she accused, eyes heavy, already drooping._

_A kiss was pressed over her pulse point._

"_Unfortunately, on occasion, I do bite," he admitted. "I've a deplorable disposition at times. You know that well, though, don't you, my Lioness? Know it, forgive me for it, and... like me... despite it." _

_Too tired to reply, she grunted. _

_The last thing she heard before sleep claimed her was his regretful sigh and his whisper:_

_"I don't deserve you, I know, but I'll be damned if I'll give you up to Potter."_

*.*.*.*.*

Hermione woke up with a smile on her face.

Her dream had been the perfect balm to her sadness, and today she felt rejuvenated – and determined. She was a Gryffindor, and cowardliness was not part of her character traits. Today was a new day, and she'd deal with all her problems instead of running away and crying.

She constructed a mental list that would help her:

_Take a shower_

_Have breakfast_

_Call Ginny and if she doesn't answer, send her a Howler. That's sure to get her attention_

_Get ready for work & GO (no avoidance!)_

_Accost Harry in his office, and confront him about yesterday_

_Figure out the Malfoy issue – wing it (you're good at that)_

_Meet Ginny for lunch, or hunt the stubborn woman down and explain things to her while she hangs upside down_

Yes, her list was perfect. Now all she had to do was get her lazy arse out of bed and start her day. Yawning, she stretched her limbs and–

Her hand brushed up against something foreign, unexpected, and rather... cardboard-like.

She glanced over at the pillow next to hers, where Crooks usually slept. He wasn't there, and there wasn't an indent in the downy surface to indicate he'd slept there all night. Instead, there was a white note card, the paper stiff and obviously expensive.

With dawning horror, she gingerly picked it up and flipped it open.

_**When you sleep, you look less like a lioness, and more like an angel.**_  
><em><strong>I'll see you soon, my love. Wait for me... please.<strong>_

It hadn't been a dream at all, had it? He'd really come to her and he'd... his mouth... her parts... She squirmed, realising she was a bit sticky between her thighs.

Mortified, she slapped a hand over her face.

Merlin, Circe, and Morgana, he'd been right about morning-after regrets, hadn't he? Being in her own bed, however, meant at least she didn't have to do the 'walk of shame'. At least there was that small saving grace.

She revised her mental list:

_Call in sick to work – claim a 'mental health' day_

_Take a shower_

_Have breakfast_

_Call Anthony to come over and check your wards – tell him you were concerned that someone might have broken in last night, because of the way your cat is acting (which is true... and omission is not, technically, a lie – so stop feeling badly about it!)_

_Call Ginny and if she doesn't answer, send her a Howler. That should make her angry enough to storm the castle for a confrontation_

_Send Harry a note about yesterday – explain your position (you're better at writing anyway)_

_Avoid Malfoy at all costs (you're good at that, too)_

_Hunt Ginny down (because really, you know she won't come find you, especially after embarrassing her with a Howler)_

It was going to be one of those days, it seemed.


	18. Chapter 17

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong>Chapter 1<strong>**7**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"You were right: your wards have not been disturbed," Anthony confirmed for her, his eyes filled with an ocean of unasked questions.

Hermione had to give it up to the guy; despite the burning curiosity in his expression, he remained patient and calm, respectfully allowing her the opportunity to fess up to what she was hiding from him.

And how could he _not_ know that she was up to no good, she thought, mildly annoyed by her own obviousness. She'd always been trash at lying – even when Polyjuiced and wearing Bellatrix Lestrange's heartless face. Besides, Goldstein was too good an investigator not to have recognised the suspicious scent of recently burned paper in her flat.

If he was really all that sharp, however, he'd have put together that curious smell with her request for a wards check and known she'd torched something incriminating ('The Serpent's' latest note) just before he'd come over. As he didn't volunteer any misgivings, however, neither did she. Tit-for-tat, she supposed, but she also knew not to open her mouth and offer up any information to any officer of the law, as that was the quickest way to hang oneself.

When she didn't respond to his observation, Anthony simply took a seat in one of her plushy armchairs and sat back, waiting.

He was 'good cop', then, as they said. She wondered who 'bad cop' would be?

Oh, wait, that would be _her_ usually, wouldn't it?

Well, this silent stalemate wasn't getting them anywhere.

Hermione ran a hand through her still-damp hair in a not-quite-so-faked sign of frustration (she really was a tad upset over this whole thing). "You're quite sure he didn't use any magic in here?" She'd already checked, but a second opinion never hurt.

"Positive." Anthony's cat-like eyes watched her carefully. "As you know a person's magical signature is unique, and we keep archives in the department of all Ministry workers' signatures and known criminals – a law Kingsley wisely passed the moment he was officially elected Minister. Of course, unlike fingerprints, magical residue faints and gets distorted as time passes. The best case is to find one within twenty-four hours from the moment the wizard or witch cast a spell. After that, courts don't accept them as evidence. In your flat, the only viable signature is your own. He either picked your lock using non magical means, or–"

"He's someone I know and intimately trust – either in a familial or in a romantic way."

"Yes."

The full impact of that revelation hit her: she'd guessed wrong. 'The Serpent' wasn't Malfoy at all, as she'd suspected, for he and she had certainly never been intimate before (the closest they'd come was that almost-kiss that afternoon in Twilfitt & Tattings, which certainly wouldn't be enough for her wards to recognise him), and honestly, she didn't trust him further than she could throw him.

So if her mystery lover wasn't Draco, who was it?

"Hermione, I'll need a list of all the people who have access to your flat," Anthony instructed, sounding brusque and official.

"Of course," she automatically agreed, seeing no harm with the request, "but I don't think it will be useful, Tony. You know as well as I do that my wards are not specialised. They're enough to keep strangers out, and to warn me if someone with ill-intent tries to break in, but they're not specific as to individual magical signature recognition."

Anthony stood up and started pacing.

"It was him, wasn't it?" he burst out, clearly frustrated. "It was 'The Serpent'."

"Tony–" she warned, but he cut her off.

"I know you're holding something back from me. Why? What does this thief have over you that you'd recuse yourself from the case and now attempt to cover for him?" He got down on one knee before the sofa, where she was currently sitting, to look her in the eye. "Is he blackmailing you? Is that it, Hermione? If it is, you can tell me. I won't include it in the report if it'll hurt you, but I need to know. Anything you might be able to add would help, because right now, I've got no leads and you're my only good link to him."

She stared at her hands on her knees, hating to lie. It was ingrained into her not to be false, and this omitting information could be grounds for perverting the course of justice charge slapped on her – which was similar to Muggle law in that it carried a life sentence. She couldn't afford that.

"I was dreaming about him," she admitted, her cheeks going red-hot under Anthony's scrutiny. "I'm not sure, but there was this note–"

"A note? Where is it?" he asked, excited.

She swallowed, knowing she was headed for trouble the minute she admitted the next part. "I burned it."

Anthony sat back on his heel and stared at her like he'd never seen her before. "Why would you do that? You know it was evidence."

She sighed. "I thought... it had come from someone we knew, and it was a... a prank. I didn't want him to get into any trouble."

See? Shit at lying, seriously.

To her surprise, Tony seemed to consider that excuse as legit, though. "Who'd you think it was from?"

Glancing up at him, she felt it couldn't hurt now to tell him at least this much. Besides, who would really believe it?

"Malfoy."

On cue, Anthony started laughing. "Malfoy? You really–? You suspected the prosecuting attorney on the case – a pure-blood who may have renounced his past, but doesn't make it a habit to give Muggles the time of day. You thought _he _was championing them? Oh, that's... that one for the books, Hermione." He slapped his knee. "I bet his family's got their own share of Muggle treasures stashed away, so I doubt he'd be keen on gifting back any time soon, you know."

She frowned. "No need to be so insulting."

Tony apologised several times as he stood back up. "So, you burned the note. Well, nothing to be done about it now. As you said, probably a prank. After all, you'd had to have been on intimate terms with 'The Serpent'—or at least considered him family—for him to be able to come in here, and since there's no way you and Malfoy..." He left that hanging with a teasing grin. "Well, we both know how impossible that idea would be."

_Not so much_, she thought, remembering some of her fantasies over the past several weeks.

"So, that leaves us exactly where we were before... no solid suspects," she summarized. "This entire thing served no purpose."

...Except to invalidate her primary suspect.

"Tony, do you think you can put up some new wards around my flat?" she asked, a new idea forming in her head.

He scratched his chin. "Sure, but don't you want someone more familiar to place them, like Bill Weasley, for instance?"

She shook her head, her idea coalescing in her mind. "Bill is in Egypt for a conference, and any other ward specialist would have to file a report. I don't want anyone to know."

"Why?"

"So I can catch my prankster," she whispered, leaning forward in her seat, eyes bright with inspiration. "If he comes back–"

"–You'll have his signature." Anthony said, following the chain of logic. "What if it really was 'The Serpent', though? What if it's someone you know."

"Doubtful, but if that's the case, well, I'll have to report what I find. In the meantime, you have a real investigation to run. If I may suggest...?" Tony nodded, indicating with a wave for her to go ahead and offer up her advice. "You have the lists I made. You should cross reference them against any family members of the victims who don't live in the homes where the crimes were committed. Also, you might want to make a new list of possibilities: close working relationships – business partners, old servants, former employees who may have been a bit too familiar with the boss, that sort of thing. That wasn't an angle we took, but surprisingly, Dawlish actually considered in his notes. He rejected the idea outright, but there may have been some merit there. See if any of that collection will volunteer to allow you a sniff of their magical signatures. If none of them match, you'll have whittled down your list of suspects."

Tony nodded his thanks. He glanced around one last time. "Are you certain you don't want me to report this incident? If it wasn't a prank, then whoever it was managed to break into your flat without disturbing your wards, Hermione."

"I know," she agreed, "but whoever it was didn't hurt me. That's all that matters, really."

"Perhaps."

Anthony didn't look convinced, and Hermione fought down the urge to roll her eyes.

"Come back when your shift is over to place the wards," she shooed him towards the door. "I promise if things escalate, I'll personally go to Kingsley and Harry – and I'll keep your name out of it."

"Thanks," he dryly said, eyes twinkling at the mention of Harry's name. "So, about you and Potter–"

"Not a word more from you, Anthony Jonathan Goldstein!" she admonished, throwing a small sofa pillow at him. "And on that subject, you can take your mind out of the gutter, if you don't mind."

"Touchy!" he joked, snickering. He stepped towards her Floo, grabbing some sparkling green powder from the box on the mantle. "I guess the boss is just going to have to do his own recon on the subject."

"Did Harry–?" she began to ask, but didn't get a chance to finish her question, as Tony Floo'd away, calling out for the Ministry of Magic.

Bugger. She'd wanted to know if Harry was now pulling a Kingsley on her. She was sure he'd gotten the message that she was calling in sick and had asked Anthony to come by her flat. Maybe her best friend's curiosity had gotten the better of his scruples this time and he'd asked Tony to poke around and find out her thoughts about their supposed 'romance of the century'...

The more she considered that angle, the more she thought she was spot on in her suspicions. Harry was known for playing some pretty underhanded tactics when he was digging for the truth. He and Shacklebolt were really two peas in a pod that way; no wonder they were such good friends.

Honestly, the tricks one picked up while working for the Ministry!

_Politics breeds corruption_, she thought with a cynical shrug.

Alone again in her flat, with only Crookshanks for company, Hermione mentally recapped her conversation with Anthony.

Realistically speaking, she knew 'The Serpent' was too smart to fall for an extra layer of wards, but if he was honestly smitten with her, would he possibly risk his freedom to be near her? She had to know him if he'd crossed her wards without setting them off, but at the same time, she apparently _didn't_ know him at all. At least, he wasn't who she'd believed him to be, anyway. So who was he, and had she, inadvertently just put into motion a plan that would take away his freedom?

Her heart thudded in her chest. Hermione pulled her knees up and hugged them, resting her head on them. "I'm sorry," she murmured quietly. "Whoever you are, forgive me."

*.*.*.*.*

Apparently taking a day off after a supposed scandal equals confirmation of said scandal.

That was a hard lesson to learn for Hermione, who felt like punching the editor of the Pink Column, a Mrs. Smythe, for publishing such crap about her person. The _Evening Prophet_ from the night before had gone into even greater detail about Hermione's love affair with the dashing Head Auror ("Number Two Most Eligible Bachelor in Britain" the article repeatedly cited). The fact that Hermione had supposedly 'gone into hiding to bury her shame', according to the column, had only verified Smythe's opined belief that Hermione and Harry were, in fact, seeing each other in secret.

Determined to put an end to the rumours flying around, Hermione made her way to Harry's office. She'd start with the source and move on from there. It was time to nip this issue in the bud.

Anyone who'd dared attempt to intercept her march with inane questions was pinned with an icy glare that was later described as "so vicious, it would have made He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named cower". A few of the more foolish who'd actually stood in her path were subjected to a tongue-lashing the likes of which, Ron later commented, would have made Minerva McGonagall green with envy. The fact was Hermione didn't have time to suffer fools, especially when all of them were only looking to congratulate her on 'coming out' with Harry or to get the latest gossip direct from the horse's mouth. She'd snarled at those people and twirled her wand threateningly in their direction, sending them scurrying away. Consequently, word spread quickly that former war heroine Hermione Granger was "in a dangerous mood". Within moments of her Flooing into the Ministry lobby, the corridors had cleared and the lifts were conspicuously empty.

Harry, as was expected, was busy with paperwork at his desk when she blew in, shoving his assistant aside and slamming the door in the sputtering woman's face.

He looked up at her, not at all surprised to find her standing in his office, his gaze calmly blank.

"We need to talk," she said.

"Yeah, we do," he agreed and set aside his quill.

***.*.*.*.***

An hour later, feeling remarkably calmer, Hermione exited her friend's office, primly apologised to Penny, Harry's assistant, and marched on towards her second stop of the day: the Ministry's Owlery.

It hadn't been a pretty confrontation. She and Harry had rowed as they'd never done before. He'd accused her of screwing around with Malfoy, and she'd screamed back a reminder that, until the previous day, she'd had absolutely no idea that he'd carried a torch for her. She'd then talked right over his explanations about his hiding his feelings out of some noble desire not to jeopardize their friendship, instead demanding him to explain to her why, on the good, green earth, he felt he had _any_ rights to judge her personal life, much less to feel jealousy towards it? He'd stammered out some excuse about being the only man there for her through thick and thin, and she'd primly informed him that she was sorry to have wrongly given him the impression that he could dictate to her what men she should consider for a relationship just because she'd trusted him with her confidence. He'd blanched at that and seemed seriously taken aback, and the argument had petered out. Feeling sorry for having verbally slapped him down rather hard (even though it had all needed to be said), Hermione had calmly apologised for having hurt him, and explained that she couldn't, _wouldn't_ see him as anything other than a friend. Ashen-faced and clearly heartbroken by her decision, Harry had then mustered his pride and coolly informed her that he'd need time to sort out his feelings. He reiterated to her, however, that he didn't want to lose her in his life, and asked her to be patient with him. She'd agreed and they'd parted still friends.

It was more than she'd expected, and she hoped that someday, she and Harry could reach the same level of comfort with their history that she and Ron had.

***.*.*.*.***

Harry was anything but serene after his confrontation with his best female friend, but he was a lot more resigned when he exited his inner office and gave instructions to Penny to Owl a letter (which he handed off to her) to _The Daily Prophet_'s offices.

He then returned to his office, shut and magically locked the door, _Silence_'d the room, and gave into his black mood by turning to his guest drink caddy and pouring himself a tall glass of his top-shelf Firewhisky. Three glasses later, and he was nodding off on his guest couch, deciding that he was done for the day and Penny could fend off the rest of the drop-ins and scheduled appointments.

It was, after all, what he paid her to do.

***.*.*.*.***

Having satisfactorily dealt with the Harry situation, Hermione had then proceeded to send a Howler off to Ginny.

That had been an hour ago, and there had been no response (of course, she was sure it would take the owl a couple of hours to find Ginny, as her friend had a tendency to hop around locations daily). While she waited, she got comfortable behind her desk, fastidiously reviewing and editing final reports that were intended for Anthony's office, as he was her replacement.

She had been prepared for Kingsley to continue to use all his influence and cunning to persuade her to remain with the Auror's office until 'The Serpent's' case was closed, despite his promise to release her. The man was nothing if not shamelessly tenacious. So, when Arthur Weasley arrived just before the lunch hour, and had brought with him a bagged lunch for two (packed with Molly's delicious turkey sandwiches, pickles, and fresh fruit for dessert), they had a lovely meal together.

Arthur was a lot more subtle than expected, chatting amicably about the family, their plans for the summer, and how excited he and Molly were about their passel of grandchildren. When Hermione had asked if his up-coming plans included inviting Shacklebolt to join them, since they were dancing quite nicely around the man's ghost anyway, Arthur had given her a genuine smile of admiration and clucked his tongue, meaning, 'you figured me out'. They'd then finished their lunch without any further con-foolery, and she'd dispelled the Prophet's numerous and outrageous rumours about her and Harry to Arthur. After hearing her side of things, her former (almost, not quite) father-in-law assured her he'd work on getting Ginny to 'come around'. In the end, he left with a conspiratorial wink and a wish for a good day.

Overall, it had been a rather productive morning and afternoon.

And then Malfoy walked into her office… and her day went directly into the toilet.

***.*.*.*.***

When Hermione had accepted the role of Deputy Head of MLE, Tiberius Ogden, the Director of the department and her direct boss, had told her she could prepare her spacious office a week in advance of taking on her new role. So, Hermione was in the process of collecting all her personal belongings in her current office to transfer them to her new one when someone knocked on her office door.

"Come in," she called, rearranging her many books into a box.

The door opened, shut... was locked from the inside.

"Granger."

Her blood turned to ice within her veins. Slowly, she turned around...

Gods, Malfoy was a handsome devil, wasn't he?

_No, no, no! 'The Serpent' isn't him. You made a mistake!_

A mistake that made her heart sink into her shoes with serious disappointment.

She couldn't blame that on him, though. It wasn't Malfoy's fault that she'd made such a gargantuan error in pinning the identity of her thief-lover on him. It had been the light grey eyes that had been her principal reason for believing such a ridiculous thing to begin with (and now that she thought on it, perhaps they'd been light blue or light green after all, as that rooftop _had_ been rather dark and the moonlight _could_ have fooled her as to their colour).

Still, she felt a fool for believing for even a second that this man in front of her right now could ever want her like _that_. He'd made his position on the matter of dating a Muggle-born quite clear without ever having to say a word to her about it, hadn't he? First Pansy back during their school days, then Astoria, then Rose – not to mention all of those other women who'd been his dates in the magazine photos in the years in between. Every single one of them had been a pure-blood witch. Apparently, despite the war's lessons, he still didn't date outside his "magical genetic class".

Stinging from that humiliation _and_ still bitter about their last encounter in the lift, Hermione wasn't feeling particularly inclined to be friendly with her co-worker now, no matter the sensual smirk on his lips. "Malfoy," she greeted him as coldly as possible. "Can I help you?"

What the hell did he want with her anyway? Shouldn't he go bother Anthony, as she was no longer on his team? Why was he there, in her office? So help her Merlin, he'd better not bring up the Harry thing again or she swore on her grandmother's grave she'd conjure a gun and shoot him on the spot!

Amusement flashed in his eyes; apparently, he hadn't bought her 'cool and detached' act for a second. Rather than turn tail and run (as many a man had just that morning), with a sexy nonchalance, he leaned back against her office door, crossing his legs at the ankles and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked on the verge of busting out with hilarity at her expense, but was wise enough to keep that gut reaction bottled up.

Smart man.

Slytherin git.

Hermione stared back at him with a stubborn tilt to her chin, waiting for him to answer her. She wouldn't give up the dominant position in the conversation by fumbling about for words just to fill the space. Still, she felt uneasy under his intense scrutiny. In fact, the longer they stood there without talking, the harder it was for her to resist a quick check in the hand mirror she carried in her bag. Did she have something on her face, or worse, food in her teeth? Was her hair falling out of its French braid yet (her hair was forever doing the wrong thing, no matter the product she used on it!)? Merlin, was it hot in here or had someone forgot to cast a floor-wide Cooling Charm again? She hoped her make-up wasn't melting, like it had that one time, when she'd first started using it, and her mascara had run with her sweat...

No, she was just being silly. She's magicked her make-up that morning _not_ to be affected by temperature or water, and she _knew_ she looked sophisticated in her purple wrap dress, black stiletto pumps, and her hair twisted off her face. She looked gorgeous, in fact, so if Malfoy thought he could intimidate her with his peculiar attitude then–

His eyes dropped to her heaving bosom for just a fraction of a second, before returning to her face.

Bloody hell, her nipples were flashing him, weren't they? She could feel them through the lace of her bra, all taut and achy. That's what he was smiling about, wasn't he? Her _teats_ were protruding with excitement. God, that word made her sound like a cow, didn't it? What had Ron referred to them that one time – 'raspberry ripples', wasn't it? Good Lord, what a ridiculous phrase! Who thought up something like that?

Unable to stand the tension-filled silence any longer, Hermione stood up straighter, folded her arms across her chest, and challenged her 'guest' to either spit it out or get out. "I haven't got all day, you know. What is it you want?" she demanded of him. "Or don't you have a job to do, like the rest of us government slaves?"

Malfoy's smile fell and he arched a haughty eyebrow. His lounging posture straightened and he pushed away from the door. "Actually no, I don't. I had a meeting with the Minister earlier, and had to finish reviewing some reports for my latest case, but for the rest of the day my schedule is free."

"Well... bloody good for you," she sarcastically replied, slapping a fake, sweet smile onto her lips. "Why don't you go out for lunch? I'll just bet Greengrass or Zeller would rearrange their schedules to suit your needs." She made a shooing motion with her hand and then turned her back on him, returning to her previous activity. "Don't let me keep you."

He sighed, but she heard no other sound from him and could still feel his magical aura nearby. He hadn't taken the hint.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Of?" she asked, stacking her books neatly into the box.

"Being a bitch all the time."

Hermione whipped her head around to glare at him over her shoulder, and found him glaring back at her. "How dare you–!"

"It's true." Malfoy crossed the room until only the desk stood between them. "The whole Ministry is buzzing with news about you almost taking Potter assistant's head off, and barking like a lunatic at anyone who even _looks _at you. I have no idea how you manage to keep your goody-good reputation when you act like a harpy most of the time."

"A _harpy_?" she screeched. "I am not like one of those filthy creatures!"

Hermione was absolutely furious that he would insult her on top of everything else he'd said to her the other day in the lift. She turned around and faced off with him once more. "I have a right to be angry," she defended herself. "After all those slanderous lies the _Prophet _posted about me... lies told, no doubt, by most of those people who cowered from me this morning in the halls!"

Merlin, that hurt to admit. These were people she'd worked around for years, some of whom she'd even professionally trusted, deeming them close colleagues, not just acquaintances. How many of them had stabbed her in the back just to get five minutes of publishing fame over the whole Harry romance scandal? Who was left that she could trust?

"As for my _reputation_," she continued, "I can assure you I am not a 'goody-good', and I am sick unto death of that label being applied to me! There's a side to me that no one knows – a side that would shock you to your toes if you knew the truth, Draco Malfoy! So, no, I am _not _some innocent, naive do-gooder all the time!"

"You're not?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone.

"Absolutely not!" she reaffirmed, hot tears wavering before her eyes. She dashed them away with an angry hand. "In fact, I'm as far from a 'goody-good' as you can get!"

Really, she had no idea what was coming out of her mouth, only that she meant every word. Something inside her had cracked open that night she'd gone to the BDSM club and discovered what it was she'd been searching for her whole adult life. That fissure had only widened after watching Malfoy fuck his secretary; Astoria's pure joy and unabashed pleasure had made Hermione realise what she was missing out on. The divide had steadily grown over a short time, and now the two halves of her personality—the sensible, rational part and the primal, sensual one—were struggling for dominance.

While being known as an unfailingly honest and unflinching, law-abiding member of the Ministry had its own set of perks, she was now discovering that being boxed into that cliché was stifling her just as assuredly as Ron's attempts to mould her into a clone of his mother had way back then, before she'd had enough and they'd called it quits. Yet, abandoning the logical, mature part of herself to become a careless hedonist wasn't in her nature, either. She was a woman who liked control and power, and was afraid to give either up. She _could_, under the right circumstances (as her trip to the club had proven), but in order to create that scenario, she'd have to rebel against the side of personality that admired safety and common sense. Either that or she'd have to do what 'The Serpent' was doing – hide it behind a mask and keep it a secret for the rest of her life.

She wasn't sure she could do that and not become resentful.

The weight of indecision, coupled with the stress she'd been under as a result of the case, her shaky friendship with Harry, her possibly loss of friendship with Ginny, the mess the paparazzi had made of her reputation, and her still unresolved situation with 'The Serpent' was so heavy it weighed her down. And now Malfoy had called her a harpy and her nipples were erect and he was a pervert and… Gads, she felt positively wretched!

Afraid she'd start crying (either that or shouting down the roof – which would be a feat unto itself, given the Ministry was buried _under_ subterranean Muggle London), she squeezed her eyes shut and balled up her fists. It was true, wasn't it? Malfoy was right. She was trapped being Hermione Granger, goody-good former Gryffindor – the wizarding world's champion and 'Golden Girl'. She could never have what she wanted most without blowing that reputation to shreds.

Caught up in her own pity-party, Hermione failed to notice that her co-worker had slyly made his way around her desk and was now a mere breath away. A gentle finger tracing her wrinkled brow had her starting and jumping back.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. It came out as a terrified squeak, rather than the strong, sharp inquiry she'd intended.

"Touching you," he replied, so calmly, so assuredly that Hermione instinctively took a step back, feeling inexplicably nervous.

He followed her as she backed away, until he'd pinned her to the wall in an aggressively sexual stance he'd never taken with her before.

She'd fantasized playing this game with him… but that had been before their fight, and before she'd reminded herself that he wasn't truly interested in her, just in toying with her. Cat and mouse.

"Stop it," she snapped, angry at him for finally making this move, and knowing it was nothing but a jape to him.

"I would if I thought you meant it," he replied with a hot smirk.

_Bastard. _"I do," she hoarsely murmured. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment from that show of weakness. Clearing her throat, she tried it again. "I _do_ mean it, now please step away from me."

"Hmm... No, I don't think so." He leaned closer, their noses almost touching. "What are you going to do? Perhaps you'll _spank _me for defying you, Mistress?"

Incredulous at the depths to which he'd sink to hurt her, Hermione could only stare at Malfoy as her heart dropped like a rock into her gut, leaving her feeling a little hollow in the middle.

"Oh Granger, you _do_ like it kinky, don't you? The rumours were right for once."

Shame flooded through her, along with a white-hot spike of hatred for this man who had always found pleasure in humiliating her.

Enough was enough!

***.*.*.*.***

Draco watched with a growing sense of confusion and alarm as Granger took his teasing—meant only to arouse her and to drop her a hint or two as to their shared history—and ran in the complete opposite direction with it. Instead of being eased by his interest, she seemed positively mortified and enraged by it.

With a powerful shove, she moved him back away from her, and then followed it up with a slap that made the one she'd given him in third year feel like a tickle by comparison. His head rocked back and actually turned from the force.

"Get out," she hissed, angrily wiping tears from her eyes. She spit such venom at him that it made him think he'd never really known her at all. Where had this side of her been hiding? Not even at his worst back in school had she looked at him as she was now.

He had to explain, to apologise and make her understand… "Granger‒"

"GET OUT!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Her magic lashed out as her emotions flew out of control, and he was astounded as an invisible energy strongly and steadily pushed him back. With a flick of her wrist, wandlessly, her door unlocked and opened, and then he was tossed outside on his arse. The door slammed shut in his face. A faint shimmer of red energy outlined the frame, a throbbing, angry glow that served as a warning to any who would dare come knocking that they should reconsider.

"Fuck," Draco muttered, eyes trained on the golden placket nailed to the door proclaiming the office to belong to **_Hermione Granger, Auror_**. She'd been scarier than even his mad Aunt had been. Had she ever shown such a display of power during the war, he'd bet Voldemort might have reconsidered his campaign to reclassify Muggle-borns as 'magically inferior creatures'.

Climbing stiffly to his feet, he brushed down his clothing and sighed. Well, he could tick 'flirting' off his list of ways to woo her, too. Apparently, she was a more 'say it directly' kind of witch.

He glanced at the ominous red glow around her door. That would prove an effective deterrent to a second attempt, wouldn't it? Perhaps giving her a cooling-off period would be wise.

Turning on his heel, he headed back towards his office, ignoring the stares and whispers from those who'd been passing by in the corridor when he'd been summarily thrown out of Granger's office. Instead, his thoughts were all turned inward, focussed on his next 'brilliant' scheme. There had to be a way to wiggle past her prejudice where he was concerned and to get her to really _see_ him. Short of dragging her into his bedroom, though, he was beginning to run out of ideas.

Why, oh why, could he never get a break with that infuriating woman?


	19. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **For pictures of the characters and outfits described in this fic, check my photobucket – link, as usually, in my profile.

**PS: **Anonymous reviewer who mentioned my other story **Wish me Luck**, please check my profile for a reply.

**PPS:** I have a feeling this chapter might elicit some strong reactions, so keep in mind we still have a long way to go.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

**_Chapter 1_****_8_**  
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Hermione impatiently tapped her fingers of the expensive silk tablecloth, Beethoven's __Moonlight Sonata __soothing her nerves as she mentally went through what she wanted to say when her friend arrived shortly.

_Divine Cuisine_ was a new restaurant in London, near the Leaky Cauldron. It was housed in an old, two-story brick building, and they served a wide clientele. The owner had renovated the old house, with the bottom floor a dining establishment solely for Muggles, while the top was for the magically-inclined. The entrance was heavily charmed with Muggle repellent charms, so any non-magical being who expressed a wish to dine upstairs suddenly found an irresistible desire to enjoy lunch or dinner by the ground-floor fountain, an exact replica—although of a much smaller scale—of the famous Fontana De Trevi in Rome.

Upstairs, the terrace was equally as charming as the rest of the restaurant, and was the owner's pride and joy (it should be, as everyone knew it had cost him a small fortune to design and install – or so he reminded them at every opportunity). The lighting in this section was intentionally dimmed, to give the illusion of a romantic twilight. Small balls of fairy lights bobbed here and there, winking on and off like fireflies in summer. A magical waterfall in the room's centre served as an eye-pleasing focal point, and its crystalline water sparkled as it tumbled into the small, dark pond at its base. A podium was erected beside the pool, and set upon it was a sleek, black piano with an elegantly dressed pianist behind the ivories; his talent lay in soft lounge music. Half a dozen, round café-styled tables were cleverly placed around the fountain to provide a feeling of intimacy to the elite clientele who frequented the top floor (many of whom were known to bring their mistresses here). The whole patio had strong charms to protect the customers from Muggle notice, from inclement weather, and to keep the temperature at a constant 21 degrees C.

Needless to say, to get a terrace section table, you had to have made reservations months in advance, and of course have the necessary galleons to pay–

Or in Hermione's case, you simply had to be (in)famous.

When she announced her name to the _maître d_' and sheepishly asked if there was any chance she could get _any_ table whatsoever – even one against the back wall, behind the tall ficus plant, to her surprise, the staff flew into an uproar of excitement and wouldn't hear of her having anything but the best. The owner, himself, came out to greet her personally, and he and his employees bent over backward to set-up a table for her on the terrace where one hadn't been before.

She was embarrassed by the fawning and hero-worship she received—still, even after all these years, and despite that awful series in the Pink Column—but this was one time she wasn't going to reject the offers thrown at her. She'd never dined in this part of the restaurant before, always insisting on a policy of 'no special treatment' when going out, but in her heart of hearts, however, she'd always wanted to come up here with a date.

Funny that her first time on the terrace would not be to receive some grand proposal from a dashing boyfriend, but to mend the painful and awkward rift that had been torn open between herself and her best girlfriend.

Surreptitiously glancing around, Hermione confirmed there the section was all but empty, with only two other couples who'd been seated on the other end of the room. Assured she was safe from the social gaffe squad, she sneakily toed off her heels and ran her painted toes through the plush, Florentine arabesque style carpet that covered the stone floor under her table. Each table had its own, vintage rug under it, adding another layer of elegance to the area.

Circe's sins, her heels were hurting! Her Charlotte Olympia peep-toed pumps were certainly a flattering accessory to her outfit, but wearing them for an extended period of time was torture on her poor feet (not to mention the dent they'd put in her pocketbook)!

Unfortunately for her, __Divine Cuisine__ had a dress code for dinner, so she'd had to play dress-up tonight. She'd dug around in her closet until she'd come up with the perfect, "I'm so sorry, forgive me for being a bitch and kissing your ex, who I know you're secretly still in love with, but really, I'm not interested in him so please don't hate me anymore" look: classy black one shoulder dinner dress with a modest neckline, attractive black heels, jewellery that wasn't flashy or obnoxious, and hair down in ringlets about her shoulders. She looked fashionable, attractive, but not like a cat in heat to give the wrong impression.

Honestly, not having Ginny there at her flat while getting ready for tonight's dinner had been a little demoralizing. They'd always helped each other pick out the right outfits for special events, and occasionally even provided advice on make-up and accessory choices. It was a girl ritual – a time-honoured custom they'd developed over the years. It had hurt her to realise that she'd jeopardized that over a moment's selfishness and indecision.

She checked her watch on her wrist. She'd arrived thirty-minutes early.

Anxiety eating her up, she signalled over the waiter and ordered a glass of liquid fortification – a claret he'd recommended. He brought it to her… along with a starry-eyed request for her to autograph his waiter's wallet (which she'd done while blushing to her roots). As she sipped away at her drink now, she recalled Ginny's response to her post-Howler letter (which she'd sent _after_ she'd cooled down from her row with Malfoy). It had been a curt note – a one-sentence reply to her long-winded explanation, apology, and an invitation to dinner:

_**FINE, YOU'RE BUYING THOUGH.**_

Thank Godric Harry had set everything right with the Prophet after their confrontation. The retraction printed in the _Evening Prophet_'s Pink Column, along with Mrs. Smythe's personal apologies for "accidentally" quoting out of context (the woman _was_ Rita Skeeter's protégé, so what more could one expect than a half-hearted admission of guilt?), was surely part of the reason her best girlfriend hadn't yet ripped her head off, and had even agreed to come out and meet with her tonight.

The clacking of high heels approaching had Hermione snapping to attention (and her feet hastily searching for her shoes under the table to slip them back on).

To her utter surprise, it wasn't Ginny walking resolutely towards her table, but Narcissa Malfoy (who _still_ didn't look a day over forty, despite the fact she was surely approaching her mid-fifties by now). The woman was dressed to impress, with her shiny blonde hair twisted up into a chic French twist, strings of perfectly round, shiny pearls around her throat, and dressed in a floor-length, sleeveless A-line with silver embellishments at the waist (white, of course). The dress probably cost more than Hermione made in six months worth of jockeying Ministry politics and dodging dark hexes, and the South Sea pearls were probably grown, harvested, and polished by only the finest aquaculture handlers in the world.

Draco's mother gave her a genuine, affectionate smile.

Of all the people the war had dramatically changed, Hermione believed Narcissa's transformation to have been the most extreme. She'd gone from staunch pure-blood elitist and vocal bigot to mostly-selfless philanthropist and adequately-tolerant humanitarian. That change, Hermione contended, stemmed from three specific, life-altering experiences:

First, after the Wizengamot war trials had finished and Lucius had been sentence to life in Azkaban, Andromeda Tonks had come knocking on Narcissa Malfoy's front door. The two sisters had tearfully reconnected, and now Narcissa frequently visited her sister, helping to raise the woman's orphaned grandchild, Teddy. Something about nappy changing, bandaging up knee scrapes, and Christmas shopping for a child had seriously softened Narcissa's overall attitude.

Second, Hermione and Harry had been instrumental in successfully in not only getting Draco's post-war criminal charges dismissed, but within three years, had managed to snatch Lucius from the hellish mouth of Azkaban and had his sentence commuted to permanent exile from Britain (tragic, but at least he was out of that awful prison). Narcissa had been over the moon thankful to them both for that, as well as grudgingly respectful that they'd been able to politically manipulate the Wizengamot so spectacularly.

And finally, Narcissa was a badge-carrying member of the wizarding government's Most Meritorious Order of the Honourable Exemplary Rod (a.k.a. MMOHER – which sounded to Hermione like a bad infectious disease that required the trimming of all of one's body hair, but was in reality, the Ministry's answer to the large number of bored, insanely wealthy pure-blood wives whose husbands had been pitched off to prison in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. In short, it was a social club that met every week on Thursdays to plan monthly charity functions. The Ministry awarded its members for "giving back to the community so selflessly" with a nice shiny medallion and lots of positive press, which invariably helped repair their family's reputations). The Order had done wonders for pulling the proverbial stick out of Narcissa's bum. She'd become much more... fun. Not to mention conscientious of any public opportunity to score points.

Like now, as the other two couples in the room, as well as all of the upstairs wait staff, were now watching the famous blonde socialite make her way towards Hermione's table, hoping to listen in or observe something scandalous.

Climbing to her feet quickly, Hermione plastered a smile on her face (despite her somewhat dampened mood over the whole Ginny issue), and as Narcissa approached, held out a hand to the woman. "Mrs. Malfoy, what a delightful surprise," she murmured.

And it was a surprise. The last thing she'd expected tonight was to run into the mum of the man she was currently in a lust/hate relationship with.

Narcissa brushed the hand aside and leaned in for one of those quick social hugs with the prerequisite French 'air kiss' to each cheek. "No need to stand on such formality, darling. I've told you that before. Call me Narcissa, please," the witch offered.

"Narcissa, yes, right," Hermione mumbled, eyes wide as she awkwardly returned the hug. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Mal–... Draco mentioned something about you taking a small holiday to Italy so you could visit with your husband."

"Yes, indeed, I was there for a week. Ah, Rome! La! However, something at home required my attention, and I immediately Portkey'd back. I'll be returning tomorrow to join Lucius to attend the opera. _La traviata_, featuring Celestina Warbeck's cousin – she's a famous Italian Diva, you know. Such a beautiful voice on the woman!"

"I've never seen," Hermione admitted. She'd always wanted to go to the opera, but between her chaotic work schedule and not having a cultured enough man who enjoyed opera to go with, well...

"Well, perhaps when I'm back in town, we could make an appointment to see it together here. True, the London houses simply don't hold a candle to the Teatro La Fenice di Venezia, but just being with you will make the experience so much brighter, I'm sure."

And the pictures the next day in the Entertainment section of _The Daily Prophet _of her and Hermione seated in the same box seat, whispering and giggling together, would naturally be a marvellous coincidence, giving Narcissa ultimate bragging rights within her inner circle about 'breaking in' her younger companion to the wide world of opera.

Naturally.

So wrapped up in her cynicism, Hermione missed some of Narcissa's dialogue. She tuned back in, though, the moment a triggering keyword was spoken:

"... Draco, of course. I couldn't miss this opportunity to spend some alone time with my son! My darling boy works so much, I hardly ever see him anymore!"

"Draco? He's coming here?" The panic Hermione suddenly felt manifested as a constriction in her chest. She struggled not to suddenly go weak-kneed and start hyperventilating on the spot, instead settling for gripping the back of her chair with a hard, white-knuckle hold.

After their confrontation in her office, she wasn't sure she could deal with him. He'd humiliated her, and she'd reacted badly (stress would do that to a person). It was an awful situation that she wasn't sure would be healed by a simply, 'sorry' this time – not on either end.

Maybe she could escape before he arrived? Was it too late to Floo-call Ginny and ask to meet her at the Leaky instead?

"Mother."

_Damn._

Dread filled in her stomach, twisting her insides, Hermione watched as Narcissa slowly turned around, offering Hermione a perfect view of her approaching doom. Draco looked unfairly hot in a tailored black suit with a white button-down shirt, and with his hair styled so the bangs flopped forward, while the rest was tied back at his nape.

Wands and crosses, he was a very sexy man.

When he spied her standing just beyond his mother, his eyes widened a fraction, yet his step never faltered. Two rosy spots did appear high on his cheeks, though, she noted.

Dear God, he was actually blushing!

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, dropped his focus to the side, and then proceeded to look everywhere but at her as he greeted his mum with a murmured 'hello' and a kiss to her cheek.

Well, wasn't this awkward!

Over the years, Hermione had been voyeur to this man's many levels of foolishness. As a boy she'd seen him: unwisely insult a hippogriff and get attacked for it, fall victim to the occasional Fred and George prank, used as a patsy by a Dark Lord, made terrified by a mad aunt's rage, shamed before the Wizengamot. As an adult, she'd watched him win his first big case as a prosecutor, finally shake Harry's hand, win the world over with his naughty smile, and fuck another woman against a mirror. The only time she'd ever seen him flustered like _this_, though, had been after she'd walloped him one good in third year.

"Look who I found, darling!" Narcissa trilled, grabbing her son's arm and forcing him forward. "Isn't it a funny coincidence?"

With no choice but to acknowledge her, Draco looked into her eyes, finally. "Hello, Granger."

To her gratification, her voice remained steady as she recognised him back. "How are you?" she politely asked.

An uncomfortable, tense silence settled between them as it occurred to Hermione that she'd just asked a very stupid question. How was he? Bloody hell, she'd tossed him out of her office earlier that afternoon, landing him on his arse hard in the middle of the Ministry corridor where everyone could see. How did she think he was?

She cleared her throat. "I-I-I mean…"

She let the thought drift away, suddenly caught up in the way he was looking at her just then. She had never seen him look so... open. Usually, his real emotions were carefully shuttered, but right then, they were unguarded, reflecting longing, remorse, and an uncomfortable insecurity. He looked at her like a man about to make a desperate confession.

Hermione's heart started pounding with both anticipation and anxiety.

***.*.*.*.***

"I thought we were having dinner _alone." _

Shit! Ginny.

Hermione leaned over to see around Malfoy and his mum. At the same moment, they turned around (simultaneously, like a matching pair of blond-haired dolls), curious as to the newcomer behind them.

Ginny looked anything but friendly as she took in Narcissa and Draco standing in her path.

Her friend's scowl might have had a fiercer impression all around had she not been wearing a Barbie-like gold _lamé_ mini-dress. It looked sexy on Ginny, definitely (especially with one shoulder bared), but with her friend's red-gold hair twisted into a ponytail and a few stray wisps curled around her temples, she looked like a pouting young girl playing dress-up.

Hermione's glance was drawn downward, and she gasped at the sparkle on Ginny's feet that had caught her attention. "What are _those_?" she asked, pointing with envy at Ginny's lovely glittery heels.

Narcissa glanced down. "Jimmy Choo's, if I'm not mistaken," she said. She gave Ginny and Hermione both a mysterious smile. "Madam Tattings, of Twilfitt & Tattings, is an old friend. She has a special display of his latest designs for her favourite clients. Such talent in that man. Amazing how he straddles the magical and mundane worlds with such ease."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. She and Ginny had been staring at those exact shoes in Muggle London one afternoon when out for a girl's shopping trip (that had been after her friend's breakup with Harry), and Hermione had stated that _those shoes_, in particular, would look perfect on her girlfriend's feet. She'd been trying at the time to remind Ginny of how feminine and pretty she was, because she'd been so down on herself then ("Harry looks at me like I'm one of his guy friends!" "I have a boy's figure." "I wish I had a more girly shape!"). Hermione had dragged her bestie inside the store with her and forced Ginny to try them on. One walk up and down with them, and Gin had purchased them on the spot. To Hermione's mild disappointment, Ginny had never worn them, telling Hermione she would wait for the right time to slip them back on ("when it's important and not before!").

She had them on her feet now. Was she trying to tell Hermione that she forgave her?

Hurrying around the Malfoys, Hermione approached Ginny. "Hi," she said, somewhat shyly.

Ginny turned her full attention on Hermione, and her frown deepened, but it was more a pensive frown and less a hostile one. "Hey."

To Hermione's irritation, Mrs. Malfoy just couldn't help but interject herself into the situation. "Ginevra, honey, you look stunning!" Narcissa gushed as she stepped forward to greet her.

Ginny smiled and returned the older witch's hug, but not the French air kisses. "Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. It's a pleasure to see you again. My mother was just talking about Owling you about next week's catering menu for the MMOHER meeting. She's excited to try out a new recipe for you – a gooseberry jam with elderflower cordial."

Narcissa cooed with delight. "Oh, your mother's petalberry jam with the dash of rosewater was an absolute hit with the ladies last time! I adore her creativity and unique understanding of flavour combinations. Do tell her I'm extremely interested in a pre-event sampling, if she'll indulge me."

"I will," Ginny promised the other woman, who had wormed her way into the Weasley's lives as slyly and thoroughly as she had into Harry and Hermione's over the years. Somehow, it seemed impossible not to like the 'new' Narcissa Malfoy, who had determined not to live her life by her husband's (or her) former prejudices and to make a clean start of this second chance she'd been given.

When Ginny turned her lovely, perfect smile on Draco, however, Hermione was surprised to feel a jolt of jealousy. "Hullo, Malfoy. It's good to see you," she said, not extending her hand to shake, instead waving it at their old schoolmate.

To Hermione's irritation, Malfoy turned on the charm, oozing forward to smoothly take Ginny's hand in his and place a not-so-casual kiss to the back of her knuckles. "Hello, Ginny. You look ravishing, as always."

Hermione's jaw almost unhinged and her blood pressure soared into the stratosphere. She got a measly, "Hello, Granger" (not even her first name!), and Ginny got a, "you look ravishing" compliment and a provocative knuckle kiss (_and_ her first name!)! What was that all about? And what did he mean by, "as always"?

Ginny chuckled and waved off the compliment, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as she looked up at Malfoy with playful interest.

Standing next to Draco, Hermione realised her best girlfriend and Malfoy made quite a striking pair. He was tall, fit, and pale; she was tall, fit, and fiery. And they were both pure-bloods and were mad about the game of Quidditch. Also, a union of the Malfoys and the Weasleys would end the odd, generational feud between the families that stretched back to the days of Draco's grandfather, Abraxas, and Arthur's father, Septimus (who'd married the witch Abraxas had wanted – Cedrella Black). They would be perfect together.

Hermione's stomach plummeted into her expensive shoes, and she swallowed to keep her heart in her chest. Was this how Ginny felt every time her friend saw her with Harry?

As if sensing Hermione's darkening mood, Narcissa glanced swiftly at her with sympathy and concern. Embarrassed by Narcissa's keen powers of observation, Hermione made a best effort to give Malfoy's mum a brave smile.

The woman stepped forward and linked her arm through Hermione's. "I have a lovely idea: why don't you and Ms. Weasley join Draco and me for dinner? We'll make a little party out of it!" Narcissa enthusiastically proposed. "It's just the two of us otherwise, and Merlin knows the conversation will be far more stimulating for me if you accept. My son, you see, can be a bit monosyllabic at times, especially when he doesn't want to reveal too much of his private life to his nosy mother."

"Particularly over appetizers," Malfoy dryly joked. He turned that famous, wicked smile of his on his mum. "I didn't realise I was such boring company, mother."

She playfully shushed him.

"Thank you so much, but we couldn't possibly impose," Hermione delicately declined.

"Perhaps another time," Ginny backed her play, but the look she threw Hermione made it clear that they were united in this for the reason of clearing the air between them.

Narcissa was sharp to the tension between the two women, and as the woman's gaze bounced between Hermione and her friend, Hermione felt like a goose on display in a butcher's shop window, sized up and plumage counted. "Well, you can always join us for cake and coffee," she made the polite offer.

Hermione nodded, realising they'd need to concede to this much or risk insulting Mrs. Malfoy. "That would be nice, thank you."

She made the mistake of looking up and over at Malfoy; he was focussed on her with an intensity she'd only seen in him during work-related meetings when he had a question he wanted to ask or an idea to propose.

The moment moved past them, though, and he turned back to Ginny to flirt some more as he bid her _bon __appétit_.

Narcissa leaned into her and placed a friendly kiss on her cheek. "You look magnificent darling," she whispered in Hermione's ear, "so don't doubt it for a second. And remember: men usually find it difficult to speak to women they fancy. It took Lucius three meetings to even utter a 'hello' to me."

As the two Malfoys made their way over to their table, Hermione noted that Draco hadn't wished _her _a good meal.

Git.

Ginny indicated with her hand for Hermione to lead the way, and the two took seats opposite each other at the table brought in for Hermione's use by the wait staff. Hermione noted that Ginny didn't unfold her napkin and kept her clutch in her lap, as if anticipating a quick retreat, if necessary.

"So, what was so important that you felt you had to send a Howler to my practice?" her friend snapped, jumping right into the deep end of the pool without flinching, per her usual style. She'd kept her voice down, but that hadn't lessened the sting of her tone.

Hermione's hackles rose in her defence. She felt terrible about what had happened, but there was no need to be rude. She'd extended an olive branch, after all, and was trying to be sensitive, but that didn't mean she'd let herself be bullied. "You've been avoiding me," she pointed out, firm but calm. "You didn't take my calls, you skipped on dinner last night without even a note in explanation, and you blocked me from your Floo. So, I resorted to the one guaranteed way to get your attention. Guess what? It worked."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Maybe I didn't _want _to talk to you then. Take the hint."

Their waiter's untimely arrival interrupted the conversation, but Hermione staved him off with an excuse of needing more time with the menu and an order for another glass of wine. Ginny ordered a Firewhisky – a surprising choice before a meal.

Once the man walked away to fill their drink orders, Hermione continued their discussion in a heated, soft hissing voice. "I knew you would react like this, but I never thought you would be so pig-headed as to refuse me the chance to explain! We've been friends for years, and you shut me out without offering me any opportunity to tell my side of the story."

"What's to explain?" Ginny asked. "How you lied to me for almost twenty years about how you and Harry were _'simply friends'_ and that there was nothing more between you? Or maybe the repeating loop you were on about how you saw him as only a brother?" Ginny leaned forward, fury across her face and tears in her eyes. "Because I've got to tell you, Hermione: siblings don't _snog!_" Breathing heavily, she sat back again in her chair, fidgeted with a lock of her hair and wiping at her eyes. "Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw that article?" Her voice was truly pained. "I know I and Harry will never be together again. I've finally accepted it. But to find out you—of all people, _you, _the person I trusted the most, the one who knew all along how I felt, who _helped _me—to find out that you betrayed me like that... How could you, Hermione?"

"I meant what I told you," Hermione brushed her own tears away, hurting for Ginny and regretful for her own actions. _"_I promise you, I don't like Harry in a romantic or sexual manner. He's only my friend. That's all he'll ever be on my end."

"People saw you kissing!" Ginny shouted, slamming her hand on the table, and Hermione frantically tried to calm her. No doubt her outburst had earned them the attention of the other diners, and right then, she couldn't bear to see Malfoy's reaction.

"How can you sit there and tell me you don't like him?" Ginny insisted in a lower voice, practically growling. "Do you make it a habit to snog people you don't like? Is that it?"

Hermione glared at her friend. "I just made my feelings very clear on the matter. Didn't you hear me? Also, you are making a scene," she warned.

"I don't care," Ginny hissed back. "It's not a secret after all! Everyone already knows about 'The Golden Couple'!"

Hermione despised that nickname more than anything else Smythe could have published about her and Harry. That fucking nickname had really been meant to mock her, insinuating that she'd downgraded from a 'Golden Trio' (the nickname she, Harry, and Ron had been given immediately post-war) to duo status. It also implied that Harry, and not Ron, was really the one worth his spurs in the relationship (as Ron's nickname had always been simply 'Ginger' by Skeeter).

"You should know better than believing what's written in _The Daily Prophet_, especially in the Pink Column!" she admonished her friend. "It is mostly sensationalised rubbish doled out by Rita Skeeter's apprentice."

"Do you deny snogging him?" Ginny baldly demanded.

Hermione _tsk'd_. "First of all, it wasn't snogging. It was a kiss. _Harry_ kissed _me_. Once."

"What difference does it make who initiated the bloody thing?"

"It matters because I hadn't expected it. Until that moment, I'd had no idea that Harry thought of me as anything but his friend, either. I was completely surprised by the move and didn't know how to react. I froze, and a million thoughts flew through my head in that moment. Most were about _you_." She tried to be as earnest with her best girlfriend as possible, to reach through her confusion and despair and illuminate the true situation. "And I just stated my feelings on the matter twice now. I will say it one more time to clarify: I am not now, nor will I ever be in love or in lust with Harry Potter. I see him as only a friend. Now, you can either accept that or you can't, but there's nothing more I can say or do to fix the situation. It happened, and I can promise you that it'll never happen again. That's the best I can offer, along with a heartfelt apology for any hurt the situation caused you."

"It's not good enough," Ginny seethed. "You didn't push him away fast enough. You let the kiss happen."

The rational part of Hermione's brain told her that Ginny was simply lashing out, looking for a scapegoat to pin her pain upon. Still, it wasn't fair to Hermione, who hadn't initiated the change in her relationship with Harry – she hadn't asked for it, hadn't expected it.

After all, Hermione didn't condemn her friend for Malfoy's earlier attentions (and Ginny _had _flirted back). This was the same idea. Ginny was just being irrational.

"You blame me for something that wasn't my fault," Hermione stated, exasperated. "I didn't know he had feelings for me. How could I? Until two days ago I thought he only saw me as a friend. It is not fair of you to blame me for _his _actions, Ginny, and you know it!"

"You lied!" her friend insisted.

"I never lied to you!" she hotly contested. "I _don't _like Harry like that. How many times must I say it? There's nothing going on between us, no matter what that blasted paper says! As my friend, I'd expect you to trust me at my word – and to know me better!"

Inflexible on the issue, and still wanting some slice of revenge for the imagined slight against her, Ginny simply glared at her, refusing to back down.

Hermione set her menu aside. "Seems I was wrong."

Pushing her chair away, she grabbed her clutch and tore it open, blindly reaching inside to grab some wizarding money to pay for her drinks. Maybe there were some things people could never get past. She'd always thought that untrue, being the forgiving type in general, but by the hardness of Ginny's jaw and eyes, it was clear her friend would put her own pride before their friendship. Stubborn Weasley!

"You want to believe what's written in the papers? Fine," she offered, angry now. "Just don't blame me for the lies they'll publish about me tomorrow, or next month, or in ten years, because they will. That's what sensationalist rags do – especially when the head editor is good friends with an evil journalist dead-set on ruining me. I'm not going to bother correcting those idiots. Merlin knows people will believe what they want, even when the truth stares them in the face – as you've well proved. Good night."

With that, she threw a handful of galleons on the table, turned on her heel, and marched out of the restaurant, ignoring the stares and whispering that followed her all the way to the stairs.

The tears didn't come until after she grabbed her coat and exited the restaurant. Too upset to Apparate, she resigned herself to wait for a taxi out on the kerb. When the first drops of rain landed on her cheek, her eye started twitching.

Not only had she had an embarrassing row with her best girl friend in the company of half a dozen or more (if one counted the nosy wait-staff) strangers, _and _she had forgotten her umbrella and couldn't use magic to protect herself in the middle of a busy Muggle street, but she'd _also _forgotten to excuse herself from pudding with Mrs. Malfoy! Gods, the woman must think Hermione a complete social boor, making a scene as she had in there!

"The perfect ending to a perfectly awful day," she mournfully sighed, using her clutch to shield her head.

"You do know how to make an exit, Granger, I'll give you that."

Hermione was so startled by Malfoy's unexpected presence behind her, that she gave a little jump and rocked unsteadily upon her heels for a quick second. His fast and firm grip of her upper arm secured her as she nearly stumbled. An instant later, a black umbrella opened with a heavy _'fwump'_ and he raised it to cover her from the downpour.

"Thanks, but... what do you want _now_?" she resignedly asked her companion, in no mood to be toyed with tonight. Today, everything had gone to hell in a hand basket, and tonight... well, that fight had just been the icing on her cake o' doom. "Come to kick me when I'm down?"

Malfoy pulled her closer to him, tucking every inch of her under his umbrella and lending her his warmth.

This close to him, Hermione couldn't help but feel her heart rate quicken. Circe, he smelled good – clean, masculine, sexy.

With heated intensity, Draco again shifted his hold, smoothing his hand across the flat of her back to pull her in even tighter. Her breasts were suddenly crushed against his chest, and the rabbit thumping away in Hermione's chest took off as if chased by the Big Bad Wolf, himself.

"Did you mean it?" he asked, leaning his face towards hers.

"Mean what?" she asked, blushing at the breathless quality of her voice and the heated intent in his eyes.

"That you're not interested in Potter at all – not in any way. Did you mean that?"

Hermione blinked owlishly at the question, trying to get her brain to engage. Her focus, however, was on his descending lips. "Not that it's any of your business," she whispered, eyes nearly crossing as he drew closer, "but yes, I meant it. Harry is a friend, nothing more."

"Good," he murmured, his nose brushing against hers. "That's good."

"It is?"

His scent infiltrated her senses, completely muddling her thought process.

He smiled, slow and wicked. "Yes."

"S-s-shouldn't you be with your mother?"

As if she'd just doused his ardor with a giant bucket of Antarctic icicles, Malfoy sighed. "Indeed." He pulled back and Hermione wanted to slap herself for stupidly interrupting the moment with a reminder of his mother's company awaiting him upstairs. If she'd only kept her mouth shut for two more seconds!

Feeling a bit dazed by the almost-three-times-now kiss, she tried not to feel the stab of disappointment too keenly, though. It was just another tick mark to add to today's "it sucked hard because..." column she was tallying in her head.

"I'm sorry."

Er, completely _not_ what she'd expected him to say after nearly (_so bloody close!_) swapping spit with her.

"For what? Why?"

"I followed you out here not to... but because I'd wanted to apologise," he gruffly murmured. "My behaviour earlier today in your office was atrocious and completely unacceptable for the working environment. I'll understand if you feel the need to file a complaint with HR."

File a complaint? Well, no, that was a bit extreme... especially as she was the one who used magic to do him bodily harm in shoving him out her door. Opening that can of worms to HR was guaranteed to get them both officially reprimanded. Besides, then she'd have to explain the spanking comment, and _why_ she'd reacted so fiercely to it (specifically, that she actually enjoyed being spanked while being fucked, and therefore was insulted when she'd thought Malfoy had made such an offer not in all seriousness, but merely to cheese her off).

No, she was definitely not filing any reports with Human Resources on today's incident in her office. Not happening.

"No, that's... It's okay," she declined. "Thank you for the suggestion, though. I think." She frowned. How exactly _did_ one graciously deny a co-worker's offer to implicate himself in a sexual harassment case when: one, it really hadn't been unwanted attention, and two, the end result would only end up putting her into an even _more_ embarrassing position?

Draco's lips twitched with amusement. "No need to sound so puzzled, Granger," he teased. "I can be decent when I put my mind to it, you know."

"That's not–… I mean–"

No, it was better not to say anymore. She'd talked enough today, and every time, it had gotten her into trouble. Instead, she clapped her mouth shut.

Much better.

"You shouldn't frown," he gently chided her, removing his arm from around her, much to her disappointment, and lifting his hand to smooth the crease between her eyebrows. "You'll get wrinkles."

"That's the least of my concerns," she wryly pointed out.

"True." A finger trailed down her face and with some tender pressure, tilted her chin so their eyes met again. "Don't worry about the She-Weasel. Mother is currently giving her hell for doubting your loyalty. I think she might have been crying when I left them."

"Oh, no! She's not doing that, is she?" She jerked away. "Ginny–"

He reacquired his hold around her waist and held her in place. "–Can stand being brought up short for acting like a spoilt brat." It was his turn to frown now; he looked a bit thunderous, in fact. "The type of behaviour she showed to you in there was unacceptable, Granger. I don't care how insecure she is. She should know better than to doubt you by now."

"You didn't," she pointed out.

His indignation on her behalf melted away, replaced with an amused chagrin. "Yes, well, that's because I'm known for being cynical of everyone."

"You _are_ a prosecutor," Hermione pointed out, fighting a smile.

"True," he conceded. "And you might as well be, given the way you argue." He sighed, giving in. "Fine, you win, my… Granger. I won't bite your friend's head off for the way she treated you. However, I won't step in to help her with my mother, either."

"If you did, I'd think you were shedding your snake's skin for a nice set of shiny armour," she teased.

He shuddered. "Absolutely not. I'll leave that 'knight rescuing' nonsense to your Gryffindor defenders." His playful mood evaporated again in an instant, and he was back to being forceful (which made _her _shudder, and not in a bad way). "In the meantime…" His eyes glimmered with hard silver under the artificial street light, "you won't go back there to defend her, either, my lovely. Do you understand?"

Hermione's heart quickened.

He'd said, "my lovely." That sounded like something 'The Serpent' might say.

It couldn't be, though. It didn't make sense! 'The Serpent' was someone who had crossed her home's ward before, and she'd never invited Malfoy over. Maybe she was just projecting. After all, he'd heard her call Ginny, 'my lovely' earlier when they'd been flirting. Perhaps it was just his favourite pet name for women.

Yes, it was just wishful thinking again. She wouldn't go back down that road. Malfoy was not 'The Serpent', despite their occasional similarities. It was merely coincidence.

Had to be.

Juggling his umbrella with one hand, with the other, Malfoy suddenly reached up and gently fisted a handful of her caramel curls. Maintaining a firm grip, he tilted her head back so far that when he leaned over her, their lips easily met, gliding across each other. He was unexpectedly _right there_ in her face, and it was impossible to see anything else but him. He filled her vision as the rest of the world dropped away into insignificance.

"I asked you a question, Granger," he murmured against her mouth. _"Answer it."_

"Oh, my god," she whispered, shocked to her core for the second time today. Malfoy was finally making a move on her – and in a way she hadn't expected of him at all!

Okay, yes, she'd already known him to be sexually deviant (he'd watched her watching him fuck another woman!), but to discover that he was a sexual Dominant, too, was quite the surprise.

Oh, Merlin... HE WAS A SEXUAL DOMINANT.

Was it possible...? Could it be that _Malfoy_ was the man from the BDSM club? Could he be the man she'd been seeking, even after having run away from him? Had he had been standing right in front of her all along?

No. No, that was... simply ridiculous. He'd have said something to her before now if it had been even the least bit true.

Again with the projecting. First he was 'The Serpent' and now he was her mystery lover from a bondage club. Really, she was beginning to seem desperate, wasn't she?

Then again, if she were to be completely honest with herself about what kind of lover she'd thought Malfoy would be, she'd always guessed he'd be _this_ way - in control and authoritative. It was one of the reasons she'd been so attracted to him over the last several weeks, or so she suspected – because subconsciously, a part of her believed him to be a Dom who might be able to own her as the submissive within her secret heart had desperately wanted for so long. Now she had confirmation of that fact.

And now his comments from this afternoon made perfect sense to her as well. He hadn't been mocking her at all, but feeling her out, seeing if she'd be receptive to his advances. He'd sussed her out, somehow intuitively knowing her a submissive waiting for proper training from a man like him. Apparently, sometime between this afternoon and now, he'd decided she _would_ be his – so long as he framed his interest not as flirtation, but as a man intending on winning her surrender.

And yes, hell, she wanted that from him. Wanted him to claim her so badly that her body shook with the need. She had to hold onto him to keep her feet under her, as her knees felt decidedly weak and her head began to swim.

She'd been silent within her own thoughts for too long, it seemed, as his hand tightened in her hair, reminding her to come back to him, to live in the now with him.

_"__Granger...__"_ he growled, nipping at her bottom lip in chastisement.

"Yes," she finally yielded, feeling dizzy from desire as Draco's fingertips caressed her sensitive nape. "I understand. I'll… obey."

His answering smile was filled with wicked promise of a reward later for her compliance. "Good," he purred. "Now let's get you into a nice, warm cab so you can get home quickly." His mouth trailed soft almost-kisses over her jaw and cheek, pausing over her ear. "I expect you to take care of yourself tonight. Relax with a cup of herbal tea, take a hot bath, and if you feel like it, I want you to ease your arousal. Then go to bed. You've had a difficult day."

She blinked. "W-what?" He wasn't going to ravish her right here and now, or better yet, drag her back to his place and toss her onto his bed? "You're not… we're not…?"

"No. Not yet."

_Soon_, went unspoken.

"We'll talk more later. Right now, the cab's here."

"Cab?"

Good Lord, she'd been reduced to monosyllabic conversation, too – only she didn't have the excuse of dodging uncomfortable questions from one's mother for her lack of brain-mouth coordination. This was completely the fault of raw, unslaked lust.

"The cab, Granger. I called one for you before I came to find you. Thought you might need it."

Something about that comment bothered her, but her brain was too fuzzed with a lovely chemical cocktail of adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin at the moment. It was distracting. All she could think to say was, "Oh... Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

"I… I should be going, I guess."

"You should," he agreed and guided her to the corner, where indeed a taxi was waiting for her. In perfect gentlemanly fashion, Draco opened the door for her. Still a bit lightheaded from the whole day and night's events, Hermione tucked in her dress as she got into the car.

Before he closed the door on her, he bent to whisper in her ear, "By the way, it wasn't appropriate to say it in front of the others, but you look fucking hot tonight, Granger. I'm hard right now just from watching your sweet arse climb into this cab in that dress." He pressed a small, teasing kiss to her earlobe. "Good night."

The door closed, and Hermione had to quell her disappointment. For a second, she'd been hoping he'd tell her to scoot over and jump in, but maybe leaving things like this for now was for the best. She _was_ still reeling from her world flipping on its ear all today and tonight.

Yes, definitely a good thing to leave it. Tomorrow she would pick the baton up and run with it. Tonight, she planned to do exactly what Malfoy had ordered her to do.

He'd given her his first command! She shivered in delight at the thought.

She gave the driver of the taxi her address, and he pulled out into traffic.

Feeling like a giddy teenager punch drunk in love at the end of a first date, Hermione couldn't resist turning around in her seat, sitting up on her knees to watch Draco. He stared right back at her, standing under his umbrella until her cab turned a corner, and they finally lost sight of each other.


	20. Chapter 19

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 1<em>****_9_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"Hermione, do you have a minute?" Anthony Goldstein called out, a bit breathless from his run down the Ministry corridor to catch her.

"For you, Tony, I have five," she happily replied, pausing on her way to the cafeteria for lunch.

"Perhaps we can talk in your office?" Anthony hinted, pointedly looking around the crowded hallway at the many curious eyes watching them.

Hermione lifted an inquiring eyebrow, and his eyes widened fractionally in warning as he tilted his head to a familiar file under his arm.

Sighing as she recognised the file containing Dawlish's notes on 'The Serpent', she growled, "Circe, Merlin, and Morgana, I'm no longer an Auror, Tony. You shouldn't even be talking to me about... _him_." And she needed a cappuccino like a Seeker needing a Snitch.

She'd gone to bed early last night (relaxed and well sated, as ordered), but still felt a little hung over today. Apparently, the emotional rollercoaster she'd been on yesterday had really worn her out. She'd been hoping to pop over to the cafeteria on-site and get herself a cup of Italian Joe, but it looked like that wish was going to be delayed a bit.

She scowled, backtracking to her office and allowing Anthony entrance.

"You know I wouldn't bother you if I didn't really need your help," he offered with an apologetic smile.

Hermione nodded and waved for him to take a seat in one of the cosy chairs in front of her desk. Anthony was as much a perfectionist as she was, and asking for help was like admitting defeat to people like them. It didn't sit well. She understood that and could sympathise. "Just don't tell Kingsley," she advised. "If he hears about this, he'll jump at the chance to press how 'important' I am to the case, and neither of us wants that."

"With the mess Dawlish left, I don't doubt the Minister thinks that the head investigator needs all the help he can get," Anthony said. "Having the 'Brightest Witch of the Age' leading the charge did wonders for our public image in that respect. I think Shacklebolt is dreading the press conference next Monday where he'll have to announce your transfer and subsequent replacement by yours truly. Merlin knows what the tabloids are going to write!"

She sat in her chair and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "He wants me to be there," she revealed, her lips twisting with annoyance.

"I figured as much." Anthony sighed. "Don't get mad, but I think it's just his way of putting you on the spot. Perhaps he thinks you'll chicken out and change your mind if you have to deal with the public disapproval."

Her smirk felt cynical. "Well, bully for him, but it's not happening. I've been dealing with that kind of underhanded political pressure for years now." She roll-tapped her fingers in a gesture she was coming to understand, after all these years, was a 'tell' that she was irritated. "If I changed my mind every time a disapproving article was published about me in some paper or rag, I'd have ended up frustrated to the point where I'd have quit a career all together, broken my wand, escaped to the Muggle world, found a nice man to marry, and settled down to a life of bon-bons, boredom, and babies."

Anthony chuckled. "Somehow, I can't picture you being a contented housewife who lives for dirty dishes and changing nappies."

"Me, either. I like children, and maybe someday, I might consent to having one, but I'd be miserable living that kind of life overall. I'd need to continue working. I like the idea of making a difference in the world aside from breeding my genetics into it."

She tried imagining her someday-maybe baby, and the first image that flashed through her mind was that of a little boy with caramel-blond streaked curls and pretty grey eyes, just like his father's...

Her belly fluttered as she realised she was doing that daft thing that was common for the recently infatuated to do: fantasizing about a long-term future with the object of their interest. She'd allowed herself the whimsy only one time before with Ron, and the disappointment from that unrealised dream was part of the reason she hadn't taken dating seriously since. Now, though, she was considering it... with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Internally, she snorted at her own silliness. Talk about jumping the gun! Draco hadn't even asked her on a date yet, and here she was picturing having his babies. Ridiculous!

_Come back down to reality, Hermione_, she mentally chastised herself, as she turned her attention back to her co-worker.

"So, tell me what it is you need," she bid Tony, setting aside her flight of futuristic fancy and grounding herself in the here and now.

He opened the file in his hands. "So, I was checking your list of suspects," he began. "Doing some cross-referencing, per your suggestion." He paused, and his mouth went tight and hard.

"And?" she prompted when there was a long enough pause for her to wonder where he was going with the conversation.

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking it in frustration. "Well, that's the thing: the facts don't add up with the lists!"

"What do you mean?"

He got up, folder open in his hands, and began pacing back and forth, flipping through it. "After you told Kingsley you were giving this up, I started reading all the reports in the file, and I complied a suspect list of my own. Excluding the victim's own immediate family members for the moment, we're left with approximately fifteen people in common between our victims who had access to their houses. Of them, three are over the age of one-hundred, so I think it's safe to count them out. Four are women. Now, I know we can't rule out the possibility of our perp using Polyjuice Potion, but my gut instinct tells me it's safe to assume 'The Serpent' is male."

Oh, he was male, all right. Hermione could attest to that, having felt his steely erection rubbing first against her bottom, and then between her thighs...

Then again, if 'The Serpent' _had_ been Polyjuiced, then the thief could very well be a female wearing a male's body. After all, hadn't she just last year used that exact same trick to get close to and capture Travers, who'd fancied boys over girls? And she'd done so one other time, too: the night Harry had left Little Whinging behind forever. She'd taken the Potion and become her best friend in an effort to throw off Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Maybe 'The Serpent' was doing the same thing here.

Hermione considered the angle. She'd been in the library of the Zabini home and _Petrify_'d with the thief for less than ten minutes the first time they'd met face-to-face, so that incident couldn't confirm anything for her, really. On the roof of Theo's gallery, she'd had a slightly longer interaction with the thief, but it still couldn't have been longer than forty-five minutes from the moment she'd spied him on the stairs. When she'd lost him down that hallway, he could have easily taken a sip of Polyjuice to reinforce the spell from a hip flask, just as Barty Crouch Junior had done when pretending to be Moody. And, the icing on the cake: at the end of that quite spectacular _tête-à-tête_, she'd been _Stupefy_'d by 'The Serpent' before an hour had timed out, so that, too, was an inconclusive event.

Until she spent more than an hour in 'The Serpent's' direct line of sight, she had absolutely no way of confirming whether or not he was really wearing his own face and body. So, it was possible, wasn't it? 'He' could really be a 'she'.

Godric, what if it was true? That would completely alter the suspect list, easily doubling it... and confirm Luna's long-standing contention that Hermione was, in fact, bisexual. It would also complicate things, because she was as hot for 'The Serpent' as she was for Malfoy. If he proved to be a witch... she wasn't sure she could contain her jealousy issues if 'The Serpent' and Malfoy met.

Anthony droned on, narrowing down more suspects as unlikely. Finally, he said, "That leaves us eight viable candidates. Of that list, five of them were at Zabini's dinner, Blaise and Nott included, and all were all accounted for when Theo and Mrs. Zabini went looking for you."

"We're down to just three then," she sighed.

"Draco Malfoy, Peregrine Derrick, and Chris Warrington. All three are friendly with our victims and have been inside their houses countless times, and all three have connections to Voldemort. As we don't know the exact time of eleven of the twelve thefts to date, we can't verify if Malfoy, Derrick, or Warrington have alibis for those occasions. However, we _do _have one event where we _can_ verify the time of the theft, and through it, we can whittle down the list to one name."

"The last theft at the Zabini's dinner," she stated.

Anthony cocked a finger at her and smiled. "Got it in one."

Well, of course she had, as she'd been present when the thief had been in the bloody room and stolen the book that time!

Feeling a headache coming on, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to stave it off. This case was going to considerably age her by the time it was solved, she was sure.

"Neither Derrick nor Warrington attended that dinner, but they do have iron clad alibis for that night: they were captured on video in a Muggle dance club with some girls at the same time 'The Serpent' was thieving."

While left only Draco.

"But Malfoy arrived with Harry, so he couldn't possibly be the one," she insisted.

Anthony rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually..."

"Actually, _what?" she demanded._

Her co-worker looked decidedly uncomfortable; he tugged at the collar of his shirt, as if to let out some heat. "How can I put this?" he muttered, seemingly embarrassed to even mention his suspicion.

Hermione resisted the urge to lung at him and beat from his mouth. "Anthony," she growled the warning.

"Right already, keep it together, will you?" He made the universal hand motion to tell her to back off a bit. "See, the thing is Malfoy __wasn't __with Harry. They stumbled across each other outside of The Leaky Cauldron when Harry rushed out after he'd received Nott's Patronus. Malfoy had tagged along when he'd overheard Potter's message to me."

"Are you implying that the lead prosecutor on the case–"

"We checked his alibi, per protocol," Anthony rushed to explained. "See, he gave us one that sounded plausible, but verifying it... Well, that was the tricky part."

Tricky. Yes, of course it would be. Draco was the most complicated and secretive man she'd ever met, hands down, so it wasn't surprising to her that his alibi would be difficult to verify as well.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why couldn't anything _ever_ be simple where he was concerned, the sexy, slippery git?

Pressing her fingers to the sides of her increasingly throbbing temples, Hermione felt like screaming. First he was 'The Serpent', then he wasn't, then the thief was possibly a woman, and now this... She'd have to reconsider her earlier decision to drop him from her list of suspects, it seemed. Worse, the thought that he might have been playing her for a fool all along, just to throw her off the scent and keep her off-kilter, made her feel a bit green around the gills.

She shut her eyes against the onslaught of ugly anger, betrayal, and doubt warring inside her against her desire to trust him and her hope that she was wrong. Then, she counted to ten and struggled to be objective. "Please explain to me what you mean by 'tricky', Tony." Knowing that would settle everything one way or the other for her.

"Um, ah," Anthony stuttered, uncharacteristically avoiding her eyes. "Well, you see... That is to say... Draco–"

She slapped a hand on her desk to emphasise her growing impatience. "Just spit it out, man!"

"S&M. He told us he was at S&M that night."

Hermione felt her blood run hot. An instant later, she broke out in a cold sweat.

S&M was the BDSM club she'd visited months ago.

Well, that pretty much cinched it up that Draco had been the man she'd met there that one magical night, when she dropped all her walls for a few hours, and allowed herself to be owned in every way imaginable by a stranger... one who, it turned out, wasn't a stranger at all.

"The club apparently has a policy of wearing masks and using fake names so no one can actually attest to Malfoy being there that night. He told us so himself."

Hermione absently nodded. "I've... heard of the place." She realised how that sounded and quickly thought up a lie. "For the Travers case, I mean." Because everyone knew that Travers' sexual tastes had run hardcore. "Anyway, Malfoy's telling the truth. S&M patrons and staff are both obliged to wear masks and use aliases when interacting with each other inside the establishment. It's an anonymous dance club, officially, but anything goes once you've paid the admission fee, and so long as there's no exchange of monies between customers and no harassment or violence that isn't consensual."

Tony gave her an arch look at that.

Merlin, she needed air.

"Travers, remember?" She casually shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal to throw her co-worker off the scent. It was a harmless bending of the truth, and it seemed to work, as Anthony let the matter drop. "So, Malfoy is our – _your __p_rimary suspect then?"

"I wish it was that simple!" Anthony snapped shut the file in his hand and threw himself back down into the chair he'd vacated. "Draco was in Nott's gallery, though, wasn't he? _You even _confirmed he was there!"

She sighed. Yes, that one glaring fact did poke a hole in their theory. "That's true. I did see him when I arrived, and many guests mentioned seeing him _after _I followed 'The Serpent' to the roof, too."

_"_Unless Malfoy has a twin brother, we are back to square one!" Tony sighed, slamming his hand down on the chair's arm.

Hermione slumped back into her chair and ran a hand over her eyes. Anthony was right. All of their best suspects had alibis for the night of the Zabini dinner or Theo's gala, or for both. Yet there was no doubt in her mind someone on that list she'd originally made was the thief. There was no other logical explanation...

Unless.

"Merlin, could it be that simple?" she asked, her mind spinning the new idea around and around, finding loopholes and possibilities.

Anthony sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward. "What's that big brain of yours turning over now?" he asked.

Hermione, eyes round with wonder, looked up at him.

"You've solved it, haven't you?" he asked, hopeful.

"Maybe," she conceded. "The thing is, we've been going on the assumption that 'The Serpent' is a single man."

"You suspect a woman, then?" He seemed sceptical.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not talking about gender or marital status, but about the number of our suspects. What if instead of _one_ person committing all these crimes, we're dealing with _two_ or more working together?"

Anthony's folder fell out of his hand, to land face-open on the carpet at his feet. His slack jaw joined it a second later as the implication of her new theory hit him with all the force of a World Cup Bludger. 

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione did her best not to skip with excitement as she made her way towards the cafeteria for that much-needed cappuccino. She was reeling a bit at the revelation that 'The Serpent' was, most likely, two or more different people, but mostly, she felt as if some key piece of the puzzle had just snapped into place, providing a much clearer picture of the case.

Of course, she and Tony had both agreed to keep their newest possibility to themselves, since at this point it was pure speculation. Still, she instinctively knew she was on the right track.

There was another whole side of the equation, though, that left her feeling slightly disturbed. She spent the rest of the trip up to the cafeteria, the wait in line to place her order, and then the pause as her drink was brewed and served considering that night on the gallery roof, trying to ferret out the truth of 'The Serpent's' real gender. Had there been any word or any movement that she could remember that seemed more effeminate in delivery than it had masculine? She struggled through the memories, as everything had happened so fast, but she was sure that at no time had she picked up any kind of hint that the perp had been anything other than male.

In the somewhat crowded lift on the return trip to her office, she stood against the back wall, carefully nursing her coffee, and considered her other new hypothesis instead. It would be bloody brilliant of the thieves, if there was more than one, to cover for each other by scheduling their heists. By working together, it assured them all alibis. Poor Anthony, though! This new idea made his work ten times harder, because now the original list of suspects was invalid. If even two people on the list were covering for each other, it would be impossible to determine the truth of their whereabouts on the night of the thefts... unless they'd been somewhere public and their presence was recorded, like that Muggle club Derrick and Warrington had visited.

Still, it was a good lead, and Anthony was a determined investigator.

Maybe if he discovered the identities of the 'The Serpent' and told her, she could then go to them first and convince them to give up their crusade. Maybe their good deeds didn't need to be punished, and they could simply hang up their costumes and be done with it. That could be just as much a win for Kingsley as bringing them in under magical chains and parading them around in court. Besides, they really didn't deserve to be treated like common criminals, as their intentions in returning stolen property to the rightful owners was rather... well, _honourable_ in a way – in her mind, at least. It felt like what 'The Serpent' was doing was a little bit like what she'd done to Umbridge years ago: necessary vigilantism. If the Ministry wasn't going to defend the rank and file out of fear of political reprisal from the elite, then as far as she was concerned, she wished all the power to 'The Serpent' for standing up and doing the right thing.

And the majority of wizarding society agreed with that assessment, it seemed; they actually _adored_ 'The Serpent' and thought his/their work a right and justifiable thing.

She sipped at her coffee through the tiny slit in the takeaway cup's lid as she reached for the knob on her office door, swinging it open.

It hit her hard in the bum on the swing back as she stood there, frozen in her doorway.

Sitting—no, sitting was for commoners, he was __reclining___—_ in her chair was Draco Malfoy, dressed in one of his ridiculously sexy, well-tailored robes. The light grey colour brought out the silver glints in his eyes, she noted.

His face was stony, those lovely eyes of his like ice picks boring into her skull.

_Great... What now?_

Hermione thought that things between them would be more civil and a lot less awkward after last night; after all, they had parted in a very friendly mood.

She sighed in exasperation and came into the room. The door shut behind her. "Malfoy," she greeted him warily. "Don't you have an office?"

"Yes."

Ouch. Chilly!

Quirking her eyebrow, she stared down at him as she approached her desk. "So, then why aren't you there?"

Malfoy regarded her with frosty impatience, and it took her a minute to realise what had him so vexed: an enormous crystal vase, filled with orange lilies, coral roses, red tulips, and blue periwinkle flowers rested on the floor next to her desk. The vase was tall, reaching her waist and had a lovely red silk bow tied around it's neck.

As she approached it, setting her cup down on the edge of her desk, she was aware of Draco watching her through narrowed eyes. "Who sent these?" she wondered aloud. "Were they here when you arrived, or were they delivered after, while you were waiting?"

"They were here when I arrived," he growled.

The crisp, cream and gold-coloured card was folded and sealed with Slytherin green wax. Rolling her eyes at the pretentiousness, she broke the seal. Theo's familiar handwriting flowed across the note, and Hermione felt a shot of guilt for having completely forgotten about him in all the excitement over the last couple of days.

_Care to put a bloke out of his misery and have dinner with me tonight? My place, I'll cook.__  
><em>_Anxiously waiting your reply,__  
><em>_Theo_

Oh, dear.

Well, she would need to rectify this situation immediately. She wasn't looking forward to that conversation, because it wasn't going to be easy letting Theo down. Sure, he was so handsome and sweet, but try as she might, she just couldn't see a future for them. There was no spark on her end, just as there had been no spark for Harry. She needed fire, passion in her life, and wouldn't be satisfied settling for anything less, especially after having tasted such intense desire with first the man in the BDSM club (had it really been Draco or was that, again, wishful thinking on her part?), and later with 'The Serpent'.

It was all or nothing for her, and she knew exactly who could give that to her now – regardless of whatever secret identities or secret lives he may be running around adopting.

Now, how to make _him _see that without making an utter fool of herself?

"You have a lot of admirers, Granger," he drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm. "However can you pick one?"

"Oh, I don't know," she attempted to play it casual. "Perhaps I'll put their names in a hat and pull one out," she said, waving a nonchalant hand as if the matter meant little to her. "Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

Those twin blooms of crimson appeared on his cheeks again, only this time, they were accompanied by a frown and an angry eye twitch.

She hated to admit it, but his jealousy was a sexy thing. It annoyed her a bit too, though, especially after last night's conversation outside the restaurant. Sure, she could understand his irritation – another man had given her flowers. Still, he hadn't made a move to reach out and take what he really wanted. A Gryffindor would have done so by now, bravely leaping into the fray and tossing his heart on the line at the same time, but Draco wasn't a lion. He was a snake, and he'd been very Slytherin thus far in sliding around language that would commit him to her in any manner.

Well, it was time for him to man-up, because she'd waited long enough for him.

"What do you think, Draco? Theo's interested, 'The Serpent's' interested, Harry's interested. Which one of them should I choose?"

He actually growled!

"Or do you have an alternative candidate in mind?" she prodded.

He abruptly stood up, sending her chair crashing against the wall behind him, and stalked around her desk towards her, eyes fixed on her with a blatant dark and hungry desire.

Hermione stood her ground, even though her heart was racing now and her knees were knocking together. Was this it? Would he finally claim her today, here in her office? Maybe smashed against the wall, or bent over her desk, or hard on the floor... God, was it greedy of her to want all three?

Draco stopped a breath shy of their bodies actually touching. His scent—sandalwood, leather, and a masculine clean scent that was uniquely Draco—surrounded her, and she felt drunk on it quite suddenly and unexpectedly. It was so familiar, and not just from last night. She'd smelled it before – at S&M.

It had to be him. It just _had_ to be!

"How expert you've become in manoeuvering me as easily as you do everyone else," he said, not in the slightest bit resentful sounding of that fact. He leaned down until their noses almost touched again. "A Gryffindor's courage with a Slytherin's heart."

Hermione stared right back, feeling locked in time and space with him in this moment, forgetting everything else outside her office door. "I've always fancied a Ravenclaw's intelligence, though."

His lips twitched and his eyes warmed. "And so you have it, as well as a Hufflepuff's annoyingly compassionate nature at times. You're truly a house unified, my... Granger."

He grinned, and Hermione almost tumbled over in surprise at his quickly shifting mood. He reached into the breast of his coat and pulled out a cream-coloured envelope. "Here," he presented it to her with a flourish.

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she noted the Malfoy crest stamped in emerald green wax on the seal flap. Did every pure-blood use the same card stock and wax set? Sure seemed it.

"Mother asked me to give you this." He handed it to her, watching her closely as she broke the seal, retrieved the card and read the contents.

_You are cordially invited to the Malfoy's Annual Black-Tie Christmas Soiree, on Christmas Ever, at seven thirty sharp._

_Please RSVP before December 20th._

_You may bring a guest._

When she looked up, a dozen questions ready to spill from her lips, she realised Malfoy was no longer there. He'd sneaked out, the rotten snake!

Frustrated, she indulged in a childish urge to stomp her foot, letting loose a string of curses that would have made Fred and George proud. 

**Author's Notes for this chapter**: According to Wikipedia, the meaning of the flowers Theo sent Hermione are as follows:

Blue periwinkle – early friendship

Orange lilies - desire

Coral roses - passion

Red tulips – a declaration of love


	21. Chapter 20

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

**_Chapter _****_20_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

"I thought you'd given up 'The Serpent' case," Ron commented, absently rubbing Crookshanks' belly as the part-Kneazle snoozed beside him on Hermione's loveseat.

"I have," she absently stated, and then shushed him. They were at a very important juncture of their game and she needed to concentrate.

Hell, she was screwed. The next move was obviously 'mate. There was nothing to be done about it. She'd played the wrong opening move, clearly.

Frowning at the chess board, Hermione inwardly cursed for once again agreeing to a game of chess against her ex. What _had_ she been thinking? In nearly twenty years of their friendship, she hadn't once beaten him. Not once! Yet, here she was again, roped into playing against him by that familiar, ill-fated hope that perhaps (_Oh, please! Oh, Merlin, please!_), this time, she'd win.

Godric, she was a glutton for punishment, wasn't she?

"Ready to admit defeat?" he asked with an arrogant, all-male smirk she wanted to smack off his face.

She scowled and petulantly crossed her arms. "Fine, but I can still kick your arse in Trivia Pursuit any day!"

"That you can," he concurred, chuckling. Together, they gathered up the pieces of his glass chess set and put them back into their antique curved wooden case. The set was a gift from her for his twenty-first birthday, back when they'd still been dating. It warmed her heart to know he took such good care of it.

When they'd finished, she played hostess again. "Would you like something to eat?"

"You really cook now?" He sounded perfectly calm, but his blue eyes furtively searched the room for a quick escape, a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

She smiled sweetly, while behind her face, she was throwing pointy ninja stars at his head. That had been one of the contention points in their relationship – that she hadn't been able to cook her way out of a paper bag. To someone who liked to eat as much as Ron did, and given his mother's amazing penchant for the art of food preparation, her inability to boil water without burning it had been one of a few unspoken bones between them.

"Oh, yes," she batted her eyelashes with mock solemnity. "I made that recipe for shepherd's pie your mum tried to teach me last year. I think I've finally got it down. Of course, it's a little on the _crisp_ side, but you can't have everything now can you?"

"I-I'm sure it's g-great," Ron stammered, looking around desperately for an excuse to escape.

"Oh, I can't _wait _for you to tell me your opinion!" she shammed, hiding a smirk at his suddenly pale face. Undoubtedly, he was remembering that one time she'd tried to make him meatloaf with peas. Or maybe it was when she'd attempted that "easy" Yorkshire beer-battered fish recipe. Of course, it might even be the special dinner she'd planned that one evening involving a chicken vindaloo and a cucumber raita.

He'd projectile vomited after wolfing down every bite of those meals without complaint.

Great times. 

***.*.*.*.***

Ron felt a cold sweat take hold of him and his belly cramped.

Good Lord, he needed to get out fast! If only he had an excuse!

"Yes, that'd be great, 'Mione, but...er... well..." His eyes zeroed in on the clock on the wall behind his ex, and a tangible relief passed through him. Oh, thank the Founders! "Merlin, look at the time! Is it that late already?!" He jumped to his feet, making like he was running behind schedule, and pasted an apologetic smile to his face. "Sorry, luv, but I can't stay! I have plans with... with... Harry! Yeah, Harry."

He congratulated himself on that off-the-cuff fib. With how awkward things were between Hermione and their friend at the moment, she wouldn't ask Ron to invite Harry here. It was the perfect excuse to bugger out while he had the chance. He intended on taking it, not wanting to experience another bout of vomit burn, thanks.

The last time she'd attempted to cook a meal, he and Harry—her culinary guinea pigs of choice—had ended up in St. Mungo's with severe food poisoning. They'd both had to have their stomachs magically pumped. They often joked behind 'Mione's back, in fact, that they'd have made it easier on everyone if they'd simply made Voldemort try out some of her cooking. Guaranteed death... and his Horcruxes wouldn't have been able to save him, because if there was anything more formidable than Hermione's wand, it was her cooking.

That wasn't to say he didn't love this witch. Merlin, he did, really! Sometimes, he even envisioned what it might be like for them to get back together, because he missed her as his girlfriend (especially the way she used to make those cute, little whimpering-begging noises in the back of her throat when he'd been buried deep inside her...). She'd been his first lover, and he'd been hers, and they'd been in love, and there was no forgetting that. In fact, it was probably fair to say that Hermione Granger would be in his blood until the day he died, and he'd always wonder 'what if' when it came to them. And in his head, she'd be forever nineteen and all his. However, they really weren't right for each other in the long haul, and they both knew it.

The cooking cinched that fact. He needed a woman who was as passionate about food as he was...

...and one who wanted kinky sex.

Hermione had always been rather vanilla in their bedroom activities – maybe because of inexperience or lack of self-confidence, he wasn't sure. Whatever the block had been, he'd never felt comfortable discussing it or pushing her into doing something she wouldn't want to try after that one time he'd talked her into having sex with him outside at his parents' place, behind his dad's shed in the orchard. That had the hottest thing they'd done together, but she'd been so embarrassed afterwards that she'd given him the silent treatment for several days – and no sex, either. He'd never made that mistake again.

It was all water under the bridge now, though, and they'd kept their close friendship, and that was more than he could have hoped for. His ex was an astounding woman, and he would have had a Hermione-shaped hole in his heart if things had gone sour between them in the aftermath of the breakup. As it stood, he was content with where they were.

He was not, however, comfortable with sticking around _right this moment_.

It was time to make a clean escape. 

***.*.*.*.***

"Yep, gotta go meet up with Harry," Ron restated, collecting his robe from the hook by the door and hiking up the chess set under his arm. "Going to dinner at the pub."

"Huh. Well, that's odd you'd say that," she drawled, doing her best not to laugh out loud at his panicking expression, "because when I left the Ministry earlier, I passed by Harry's office. He told me he had a meeting with his French counterpart tonight – in Paris. He won't be back until tomorrow."

Ron's freckled face turned ashen.

"O-oh," he said and started hyperventilating.

Normally, she might have let him go, but she was not letting him off the hook this time. He had, she'd discovered, been the one to encourage Harry into making a move on her sometime this year, so he deserved a little payback for getting involved where his nose didn't belong. Honestly, he should have known better than to play her matchmaker.

"You must have gotten your days confused," she said.

"Y-yeah, that must be it," Ron capitulated, his shoulders slumping. He swallowed so hard, his entire throat convulsed. Then, he laughed nervously, and his ears turned beet red. "M-My mistake."

"No harm done." Hermione patted his back with a devilish smile. "And I'm sure after you try my shepherd's pie, you won't worry about anything!"

On her way into the kitchen, she nearly giggled and gave the whole thing away when she heard him mumbling to himself.

"Yeah, sure, 'Mione. Dead people rarely worry about _anything_."

***.*.*.*.***

"Heard you played a trick on Ron yesterday."

Hermione paused in her writing and slowly lifted her head to look up at her visitor. She recognised the voice, but wanted to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

She wasn't. Ginny Weasley, looking timid and embarrassed, stood in her doorway, her hands fiddling with her waistcoat. Underneath it, Hermione could see she was still wearing her Quidditch practice uniform. Her friend had just come in from the pitch, then.

Carefully placing her quill in its ink pot, she moved aside the parchment she'd been working on, and leaned back on her chair, giving her friend her undivided attention. Ginny fidgeted under her penetrating stare, and did her best to avoid looking directly in her eyes.

Deciding to put her friend out of her misery, Hermione gestured to one of her visitor seats. "Your rotten brother deserved it," she replied, remembering Ron's expression when she'd brought out the covered dish. He'd looked ready to bolt through a window. It still made her chuckle recalling the absolute relief that had come over him when she'd patted his head and revealed her mother had drop by the day before and had brought the shepherd's pie with her.

Cooking was simply not Hermione's forte, as _everyone_ knew.

"I'm sure he did," her best girlfriend murmured, gingerly sitting in one of the cushy armchairs. "He's always teasing about your lack of cooking skills."

Today was Hermione's last official day as a member of the Auror department, and her office was almost barren. Her books and personal items were already in her new office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's administration wing. Only a spare quill and ink pot remained on her empty desk, along with a few fresh sheets of parchment, in case she needed to take down a letter or an interdepartmental note.

Hermione remained silent, content with leaving Ginny to set the tone of the conversation. She had said her piece three days ago in __Divine Cuisine___. _If Ginny was here to talk—and the fact she had come straight from Quidditch practise, without changing implied just that—then she'd listen.

In the past, Hermione would always be the one to apologise first for any misunderstanding or fight, her innate need to keep the peace between her friends and the fear of losing them and ending up alone urging her to take the initial step towards reconciliation, even when the disagreement hadn't been her fault or at her instigation. Now, as she was older and a bit wiser, she was beginning to understand that doing such a thing all her life had put her at a decided social disadvantage, as everyone expected her to simply concede first to smooth things over. It made her less equal in the power dynamics of her relationships, as a result. Recently, though, she'd decided she'd start demanding her friends stand up and acknowledge their mistakes, too, and to properly initiate apologies when they were due. Doing so would force them to respect her and acknowledge that she wasn't a doormat for them to walk all over. Friendship was a two-way street, and it was time for them to prove it.

Ginny seemed to sense the change in Hermione's attitude, understanding what it would require of her if she wished to continue their friendship. Her fidgeting worsened, as she struggled with her inherent stubborn nature and learned how to set her pride aside.

It took her two minutes and fifteen seconds to grow up and face the music.

"I'm sorry."

"For which part?" Hermione asked, needing to make this point so Ginny would never pull this kind of cock-and-bull on her again. "For ignoring me or for believing the sensationalised stories _The Prophet_ published? Or are you apologising for accusing me of betraying you and intending to cause you pain, despite the fact you knew better?"

Ginny flinched at every word, and her grip on her satchel was knuckle-white.

"I... Everything. I'm sorry for everything," she whispered, eyes watery as she finally looked up. "I'm sorry for being such a lousy friend, and doubting you. I'm sorry for embarrassing you at the restaurant, and for saying those mean things. I know you'd never hurt me intentionally. I just... Merlin, Hermione, you have no idea how difficult this is for me!"

"You're right. I don't know – because you hold things back from me. I'm not a mind-reader, you know."

Ginny gave a nervous laugh, and swiped at a stray tear on her cheek. "I know, and I'm sorry for that, too." She sobered, and dropped her gaze to her lap again. "You're my best friend, Hermione, but sometimes, it's difficult to tell you things, especially when… I'm so jealous sometimes about how I don't and can't ever measure up to you."

Hermione was taken aback by that. "What are you talking about? Ginny, you're an _incredible_ person! You're a Quidditch star, for Merlin's sake! You have groupies!"

Resolutely, Ginny shook her head. "You don't see it, but to the rest of the world, you are THE Hermione Granger – the universe's most clever and famous witch. You're an Auror with an amazing track record for catching bad guys, a war heroine who helped bring down the most evil wizard our world has ever known, and you fight for the rights of the disenfranchised everywhere. Everyone worships you, both men and women alike. I mean... I think I'm relatively pretty and talented, sure, and I fought in the Final Battle of Hogwarts, but no one is like _you_, Hermione. You're perfect, and everyone wants to either be near you or be just like you, usually both. Even when I was with Harry… Do you know how hard it was to go out with him to public events and to have people give me weird looks when he introduced me as his girlfriend, like they couldn't believe he was with _me_? And then there would be those few times when someone would dare ask what had happened between him and you. 'I thought you were dating Hermione Granger,' they would say – right in front of me! Can you imagine how that feels?"

Hermione sighed and ran a hand over her face to hide her own sudden, burning tears. Gods above and below, had people really been that heartless to do such a thing to Ginny? Why hadn't Hermione ever seen or heard about that sort of treatment, and why hadn't Harry put those people in their places?

Ever since their fourth year, people had been speculating about her relationship with Harry, but it had certainly worsened post-war, when she and he couldn't attend the same social function together without a tremendous amount of gossip speculating on their dual presence. The reporters had even managed to make their double dates, while she was still with Ron and Ginny with Harry, look like a carefully constructed plan for her and Harry to hook-up. Those were the worst for her, because they'd always had a spin to them that made her out to be a scarlet woman who'd seduced the faithful hero with her wiles.

Utter rubbish, all of it, but Skeeter and her villainous gang of troublemaking journalists had targeted her, and Hermione had resigned herself to the fact her love life would always hold a peculiar and slightly creepy interest to the rest of the community as a result. It was the price she had to pay for having fought in a war on the winning side.

"You are not an easy woman to be friends with as a result," Ginny continued, looking bashful and bravely trying to keep the tears in her eyes at bay. "You're strong, beautiful, kind… It's not easy being compared to you, and always, _always _coming up short. I try not to let it affect me, but sometimes it's difficult."

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, as if trying to formulate her thoughts, and Hermione remained silent, waiting for her friend to get it all off her chest, knowing now that this conversation had been a long time coming.

"When I read that article, I cracked," Ginny admitted. "I lost it completely. A part of me inside"—she touched the area over her heart—"didn't really believe it, but I was _so_ angry and hurt. It was… _safer_ to blame _you__,_ rather than Harry, because if you were at fault for that kiss, then in my head that meant Harry wasn't really in love with you, and then maybe… maybe none of what everyone had said for so long about you two would have been true. Then I wouldn't have been just some kind of consolation prize for him while he'd waited for you. It would mean he'd really loved me."

_Consolation prize._

Oh, good God, her friend didn't really think so little of herself, did she? She couldn't possibly!

"Oh, Gin!" she sobbed, heartbroken for her friend. Forgetting her earlier resolve, she jumped to her feet and circled her desk, coming to kneel in front of Ginny. Gently, she grasped those pale, lightly freckled hands and squeezed them. "I'm _so sorry_ if I ever made you feel like you were somehow less or unimportant. I think you're wonderful, and beautiful, and so talented, and… I wish you could see what I do when I look at you! You're an amazing flyer, and a powerful witch in your own right, you're fiercely loyal to your family, and I'm in awe of your fearlessness and bravery! Your fashion advice is to die for, and you might think this strange, but I'm envious of _your_ fame and the ease in which you own a crowd, and how you talk to people and befriend them so easily. People love you!"

She reached up and tucked a long strand of pretty, red-gold hair behind Ginny's ear.

"As for Harry… he loved you, so please never, _ever _think differently. I remember the many nights he spent staring at your dot on the Marauder's Map when we were out hunting for Horcruxes. He'd touch the map with your name on it and smile. Sometimes, he'd even fall asleep with it open, across him, and I knew the last thing he'd done was look for you on that map before giving into exhaustion. You were on his mind all the time, and I know it tore him up to leave you behind that year, but he never gave up on you. And he still does love you. Maybe it's changed now, but I know that to him, you hold the most special place in his heart, because"—she tilted Ginny's chin up so their eyes met and gave her an encouraging smile—"you got to have him first, in every way that matters, and no one else can ever boast that."

Ginny's lips trembled as a smile quivered to life. "I did, didn't I?" She wiped her eyes and cheeks, bucking up with a bit more of her usual courage. "That's right. I took the virginity of the Boy-Winner. Popped his cherry. Rode the pickled sausage first. No one can ever say that but me!"

Hermione laughed. "Ew, Gin. Just… ew."

Ginny threw her arms around Hermione and started sobbing in happiness against her shoulder. Hermione, still kneeling, wrapped her arms around her friend's slender waist and let her girlfriend cry, indifferent to the tear stains ruining her silken blouse.

When the storm of tears passed, Ginny was the first to lean away. "You're too good to me, 'Mione." She smiled, dabbing at her tears with her sleeve. "How is it that you did the comforting when I was the one who acted like a total bitch?"

Hermione shrugged. "I remember what I was like after Ron and I broke up. You were there helping me every step of the way, despite my foul and depressive temper," she replied, getting back on her feet and leaning her bum against the edge of her desk. "This is what best friends do for each other. We understand."

"True," Ginny mumbled and looked up at Hermione. "I'm really sorry."

"You should be," Hermione agreed, with a teasing, forgiving smile. She sobered though, needing to get serious for a moment more. "Harry's a good man, Ginny. I won't lie and say I don't notice that he's handsome, a powerful wizard, and charming. But I need you to understand that our lives, his and mine... the paths we both chose can only allow for friendship on my end of things. Imagining him as a boyfriend is actually rather… disturbing."

Ginny snickered.

"Don't tell him I said that, please!"

"I won't," her best friend promised. "And anyway, we both know how fragile the male ego can be."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

Ginny suddenly started fidgeting with nervousness again. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and peeked up at Hermione, a bit hesitant. "So... are we...? I mean... do you…?"

"Forgive you?" Hermione asked, tossing Ginny a playful smirk. "Well, let me think now… I definitely think bribing me would help your case."

"Double chocolate fudge cake?"

"With a side scoop of chocolate ice-cream."

"How about dinner _and_ dessert at my flat, tonight?"

Hermione pretend-swooned back into her chair behind her desk. "Shall I bring a sparkling wine?"

"A blanc, if you please. I shall endeavour to earn your forgiveness, my dear, with a classic chicken dish I think you'll enjoy." Ginny batted her eyelashes, and stood. "Shall we say seven?"

"Seven-thirty, if that's okay," Hermione requested. "I have to meet Theo immediately after work, and what I have to say... It might take a while."

Ginny's brown eyes, so like her mother's, widened in understanding and a touch of sympathy. "Go easy on him," she advised as she saw herself out. "He's a good one."

"I will," Hermione agreed. "See you."

"See you."

With a last smile, her redheaded friend shut the door behind her, leaving Hermione alone with her darkening thoughts.

Yes, she needed to have a talk with Theo as soon as possible, to set things straight between them. It wasn't right to lead him on when there was really no chance for them, either.

"Merlin, why couldn't I fall for him? Why did it have to be Malfoy of all people?" she muttered under her breath as she penned a short note to Theo, asking him to meet her for tea in Diagon Alley later, rather than the dinner he'd proposed. She'd rather not be alone with him, not because she didn't trust him, but because it would be uncomfortable to break-up with him in his flat with a romantic table setting between them.

After she was done, she grabbed her handbag and walked out of the office, deciding on a late lunch in the cafeteria. She had a Christmas party outfit to plan out – one that she hoped would knock Draco for a six and having his hands all over her by the end of that night.


	22. Chapter 21

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

**_Chapter 2__1_  
>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

Hermione softly hummed as she perused Flourish & Blott's new collection of books in the historical section, finding one on the four Hogwarts Founders that looked particularly interesting.

Among her peers, back during her school days, she'd been the only student in her year capable of following Professor Binns' boring lectures, his monotonous, droning voice imbued with the ability to euthanize most people's consciousness. Harry and Ron had both claimed she'd had some sort of super power that made her more curious than the average human (and hence immune to Binns' extraordinary dullness), but the truth was, Hermione simply loved history. She thought its cyclical nature fascinating, and by studying it, she felt the pulse of civilization run hot and cold through her soul. History illuminated the true nature of the interactions between cultures and was the story of the psychology of the human race (and the goblins, the elves, the Merpeople, etc.). How could anyone not find that fascinating?

Her parents had always said that knowing history would allow one to skip repeating the same mistakes, and so far they had been spot-on with that assessment, in her opinion. Just look at the comparison between Hitler and Voldemort, for instance. Both highly ambitious egoists with extreme charisma, both well-skilled in the art of manipulation and in utilizing fear tactics to obtain and maintain their power bases, and both adept at rallying armies of weak-minded sheep to their self-proclaimed righteous causes – and all to justify the exile and murder of millions outside their collective simply so they could steal their wealth and resources. If only the wizarding world had studied Hitler, there may not have been an audience large enough to buy into Tom Riddle's propaganda to have caused a wizarding war (or two, as had been the case).

One of Hermione's wishes was to someday write a detailed and thorough recounting of the two great wizarding wars of their generation, told much in the same style as Max Brooks' fictional tale _World War Z_, with snippets of interviews from various persons of interest telling their stories, so the reader received a holistic vision of the events from start to finish. She'd planned to tap people on both sides of the fence for interviews, Death Eaters and Order members alike, as well as neutral parties who had either fled the threat by leaving the country or had huddled down, head bent, to weather the storm of war. She wanted it real and raw so people would read it and never forget.

Her hand paused over the new edition of _Hogwarts: A History, _which depicted the whole history of the ancient school, with the book's main focus switching to the last three decades, focusing on the Ministry's attempt to interfere (read: Umbridge) and the few months the school was under Voldemort's rule, and it included photos and short biographies for the school's most famous alumni.

She turned to the section titled, 'The Marauders', and with a fond smile, she traced the picture of four smiling young lads, each as different from each other as the four cardinal points on a map, and yet, the best of friends they had been. The short caption beneath the moving picture read: __Sirius Orion Black II, James Charlus Potter, Remus John Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. More information on the foursome can be found in pages 1234-1261.__

From the frame of the picture, a handsome, young Sirius looked up quite suddenly at whoever had been holding the camera just then. He flicked his wavy, black bangs from his eyes in a clearly practised, rather sensual motion, and then winked at the camera, giving it a naughty, provocative smirk. Whoever had been on the receiving end of that look the day the picture had been taken had surely blushed as hotly as Hermione was now, for it was true that Black had been a sexy young man! He'd also been the biggest flirt and skirt chaser on the planet, according to Andromeda Tonks, seducing most of the girls (and rumoured, some of the boys, too!) back during his school days.

The Gringott's Bank ancient clock (refurbished after the escaping Ukranian Ironbelly had smashed it to bits there at the end of the war) chimed the hour just then, and Hermione quickly checked her watch. One o'clock. She still had another hour to kill before she met up with Luna and Ginny for a late lunch. They had arranged to meet at The Leaky, so they could catch up with their other friend, Hannah, whom they hadn't seen recently, as she'd been so busy with her wedding preparations... and running off to Hogwarts at every opportunity to shag the brains right out of Neville.

One more hour. Ugh! Her tummy protested loudly at the notion of waiting longer for food. She had foolishly skipped breakfast today, so now she was dizzy with hunger.

Perhaps she'd just have half a sandwich to stave off her hunger. Her friends wouldn't mind, and she could order a small salad or piece of cake later, if she was still hungry for more.

Nodding decisively, Hermione paid for a couple of books that had caught her eye, shrank them to fit in her bag, and exited the bookstore, walking rapidly toward the old pub. 

***.*.*.*.***

Two men emerged from their hiding spot within Madam Malkin's, watching Hermione Granger agilely make her way through the Saturday afternoon shopping crowd, heading towards The Leaky Cauldron. She tipped her head every once in a while at a face she recognised, exchanging pleasantries.

"We'll finish this later," the blond stated to his companion and headed off after Hermione without so much as a 'good-bye'.

"Sure," the dark-haired man replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and frowning.

He watched the blond hurry after Hermione and shook his head, sighing in disappointment. He then Disapparated with a loud '_crack'_.

***.*.*.*.***

_****_Hermione had forgotten how much she'd enjoyed Hannah's company; the blonde had a soft smile and kind blue eyes, and had always made her feel welcome. They talked of Hannah's progress with her wedding planning, how Neville was faring as Professor's Sprout's replacement, now that the witch had retired, and of course, all of the latest gossip going on in Hermione's life (at Hannah's prodding).**__**

"I know what you're probably thinking," Hermione said, hands nursing a warm cup of herbal tea; the remains of half a delicious sandwich littering the porcelain plate in front of her. "I can't explain why I'm attracted to Malfoy. A part of me wonders if there isn't something seriously wrong with me, because we're almost always fighting, and then there's the unforgettable negative events in our past, too. Yes, I mean, in my heart, I know he's different now. I can see how the war changed everything for him, and the ten years in between has done miracles in completely eradicating his childhood prejudices, but in my head... it's a little difficult to look at him sometimes and not remember the horrid little boy he'd been." She sighed, took a sip of her tea, set the cup back down and fidgeted with it. "A part of me wonders why I couldn't like Theodore Nott, instead. He was nice, gorgeous, smart, and he made me feel special."_****_

"Your heart wants who it wants, 'Mione, and I think it's kind of romantic that you'd fall for a Slytherin, especially _that_ one." Hannah said. She dreamily sighed, having gone all mooney. "Do you realise that no one in our generation married a Slytherin except another Slytherin? No one crossed that House line... and here you are, dating two of them!"_****_

"I'm not dating Malfoy," Hermione pointed out, feeling a bit pathetic about that fact, too. Here she'd gone and broken up with Theo without any promise of a commitment to date from Draco, so desperate was she to make herself available to him. She'd never been this... this... needy and impulsive in a relationship!**__**

"Not yet, anyway," Hannah interjected. "It'll happen, if I know you. Give it a few weeks, tops. The next thing the papers will be posting is pictures of you two humping like rabbits everywhere. He's always been hot to have at you, and you... it's obvious that you're smitten." At Hermione's horrified-slash-incredulous look, Hannah laughed and tossed a hand towel at her. "Admit it! You and Malfoy have always had 'star-crossed lovers' written all over you. If only you'd both been a little more horny and a little less barky at each other back in school, you'd have shagged then just to relieve the pressure. Now as adults… you're restrained, but still want to tear at each other. Like that couple from the book you loaned me, what were the names?"_****_

"Are you seriously comparing me and Malfoy to Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet?" **__**

Oh, no. No, no, NO! Draco Malfoy was _**not**_ her Mr Darcy. He was as far from it as possible._****_

"It's true!" Hannah grinned. "You are the modern definition of _Pride and Prejudice_! Merlin, it's like Jane Austen wrote that book for you!"_****_

Hermione made a snarly noise in her throat, not liking the comparison, as Malfoy had never shown a capacity for politeness, much less good manners towards her. He was, in fact, either indifferent to her on a daily basis (prior to the last year, when they'd begun working in a closer capacity on the prosecuting of the Death Eaters she'd hauled in) or he said things to her that made her see red (an on-going habit, regardless of the sexual chemistry between them). "Hardly," she scoffed. "We're more like Blair and Chuck." At Hannah's confused expression, she clarified, "Some relatively new American television show that aired last year. They're either scheming together or at each other's throats all the time, but underneath it all they're obviously… Oh, never mind!" She growled again, frustrated by her inability to define her relationship with Malfoy to anyone, least of all herself. **__**

"Well, well. You really _are_ a lioness, aren't you?" _****_

A shiver ran up Hermione's spine as Malfoy hovered behind her barstool, his presence like a hot wave pressing in on her. Instantly, she was on full-alert, aware of every sound, every scent, and the tiniest swirl of air around her. Across the way, on the other side of the bar, Hannah was staring just past her shoulder, eyes rounded in frank appreciation of the man standing behind Hermione.**__**

From her peripheral vision, Hermione watched as his arms encircled her, palms pressing flat to the wooden bar on either side of where she sat. A moment later, his warm mouth closed in, softly caressing her earlobe._****_

_**"**_Hello, Granger," he whispered.**__**

Her heart went wild, galloping like a filly free of her tack. "H-hello." Her cheeks burned, and she had to clench the edges of her stool in a tight grip to keep from turning around in her seat and laying a wet one on that wicked mouth of his. Their first actual kiss shouldn't be done here in a pub, in full view of the nosy, gossiping public._****_

She glanced up to see Hannah smirking. "Hullo, Malfoy," her friend stated, turning her attention to Draco. "What can I get you?"**__**

"A slice of your infamous banana cake with chocolate sauce, if it's on the menu today."_****_

_**"**_It is. Be right back." Hannah headed into the back kitchen area, tossing her drying rag on the counter as she went past.**__**

Malfoy's mouth skimmed down her throat, pausing over her rushing pulse. "Care to share with me?" he asked her, his voice husky._****_

"N-no, thank you," she meekly replied. "I just finished lunch and… oh!" Malfoy's lips latched onto her throat and began gently suckling. "Oh, Mal-…" Her nails scratched up the bottom of the stool as her fingers curled inward, and she shuddered as his tongue gave a light lick over her hot skin. **__**

Good Lord above, Draco Malfoy was nuzzling her neck in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron for everyone to see! _****_

"W-what are you d-doing?" she stuttered, giving in to the slight pressure he was exerting to get her to tilt her head so he'd have better access. She was rewarded for her easy acquiescence with an appreciative, almost inaudible, moan from him, letting her know this was affecting him as much as her now. His nose skimmed the length of her neck, pausing behind her ear. **__**

When she felt him take the lobe of her ear in his mouth to nibble, her hand snapped up to grasp at his forearm. "S-stop, please."_****_

"Why?" he asked a little breathless, too. "You like it."**__**

By the gods, she did! But there were so many reasons this was a bad idea, and she had to put a stop to it before things progressed further. "I do," she admitted in a whisper, "but we're in public. This isn't right."_****_

"Not right? If we were alone, would you still feel that way?" He placed a kiss to her temple, another down the side of her cheek, and another at the bottom edge of her jaw. "Does this feel wrong to you, Granger? Do I?"**__**

_"For once, Granger,__just once, forget about everyone else. Forget about society's expectations and opinions. Pretend for just a moment that nothing and no one else exists, and tell me: does thisfeel bad? Do I feel wrong for you?"****_

Startled by how similar Draco's words were to 'The Serpent's', Hermione pushed away, breaking the enclosure he'd built with his arms, and stumbling off the stool. When she turned and looked him in the eye, she grew even more confused. **__**

They both had grey eyes… but that could have been a trick of the light on the rooftop that night._****_

They both were sexually dominant… but that could just be a strange coincidence.**__**

They both used heavy card stock, and green ink and wax for their correspondence… but then, so had Theo, and she was betting most other purebloods did as well (in this new, politically-correct, prejudice-intolerant world, something as simple as their choice of stationary and presentation of their post seemed to be one of the only ways in which they still had of conveying their pride in their magical lineage). _****_

But there was one fly in the ointment that completely buggered up the theory that Draco and the thief might possibly be one and the same: Malfoy had appeared rather furious the day 'The Serpent' had sent her flowers. If he and 'The Serpent' were one in the same, that wouldn't have been the case, right? **__**

She didn't understand because she didn't have all the facts._****_

_Please let me be wrong.****_

One thing she did understand, however, was that it was going to be extremely difficult to keep Malfoy at arm's length, regardless of any potential-possible illicit activities he may be involved in at the present time. The attraction she felt for him was undeniable and overwhelming. Her eyes boldly, hungrily took him in from head to toe now: dressed in shades of grey and black, wind-tousled hair, pupils blown, and cheeks flushed with arousal. Merlin, he was... he was... **__**

...everything she needed. _****_

The question of his attraction to her was obvious with just one glance into his eyes. He stared right back at her as if he'd like nothing more at that moment than to bend her over one of the pub's long, narrow tables, take down her knickers to her knees, and shove his cock deep into her – bareback and hard and unconcerned with an audience. Her pussy creamed at the thought, and her knickers became damp and fragrant from her lusty response. **__**

His nostrils flared as he picked up her scent, and his breathing became harsh._****_

"Come back to me," he instructed her in the calmest, most sensual voice she'd ever heard from him, and yet underneath it, she sensed the steely command of a Dominant behind his words. He expected her obedience, and the part of her that wanted to submit rose to answer... but a niggling doubt put the kibosh on that whim and kept her from doing something really foolish (like grabbing his hand and hauling him upstairs to a rented room). That something was his voice.**__**

Specifically, Malfoy's typically clipped, flinty tones, with their distinctive aristocratic inflections were smoother and more arousingly melodic when he talked to her like a Dominant would his submissive. And his voice was deeper, implying all sort of wickedness. Oddly enough, that side of him sounded a lot like the man at S&M. It also sounded like 'The Serpent'. _****_

Now, it was true that both men had magically concealed their natural voices with an alteration spell (that much had been obvious even to _her_ untrained ear), but just then, when Draco had told her to come back to him, he'd sounded uncannily similar to both the man at the BDSM club and her thief. _****_

Statistically, there just weren't that many coincidences in the universe. Not for her, anyway.**__**

She'd thought before that Malfoy could be either the thief _or_ her one-off at the club, but now it was occurring to her that he might, very well, be all three. That would certainly explain his sexually aggressive stance; he already knew what she looked like naked and how she was in bed, because he'd already had her. As 'The Serpent', and until recently as himself (the man she saw in the office Mondays through Fridays), he'd been pretending not to know, though. He'd been pretending all along... and laughing at her behind his face the whole time._****_

Shaken up by her new suspicions, and feeling ashen and a little numb by them at the same time, she quickly scooped up her purse and her day's purchases, and began backing up towards the pub's front door – away from Draco.**__**

"Granger," he growled the warning, recognising her intention. He took a step forward, but she frantically shook her head in a silent plea for him not to attempt to stop her. He paused, looking perplexed, clearly torn by wanting to catch her before she could flee and letting her go._****_

"I-I can't do this right now," she explained, bumping into a chair, but miraculously not tumbling over onto her bum. "I'm sorry. I can't... I _have_ to leave."_****_

Draco looked disappointed and, surprisingly, even a little hurt as he watched her reject him. "Granger, don't go."**__**

Hannah came bounding back into the pub from the kitchen, completely oblivious as to the awkward turn of events. "Here's your cake, Malfoy!" she cheerfully announced and placed the plate with the lovely dessert down on the bar. Her jolly mood diminished, however, when she caught sight of, first, Malfoy's bewildered expression and then Hermione's pale face – and that Hermione was half way to the front door now making an escape. "Wait, what's going on?" she asked them both, clearly confused by the uneasy vibe in the air._****_

Hermione knew she needed to apologise for what she was about to do, and at the same time, she needed to get a message to her other friends, who would be along soon to meet her. Hannah was in the perfect position to act as courier. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I'll owl you the money for the sandwich. Just... can you please tell Ginny and Luna that I wasn't feeling well, and will catch up with them later?" She gave her friend a shaky smile. "I'm really sorry."**__**

With that, she turned and dashed for the front door, running out into Muggle London, desperate to get away from Malfoy just so she could think clearly once more. Lust had addled her brain and her imagination was doing that thing that Ron had always accused it of doing more often than not: running away with her. She needed time to consider everything she knew about Malfoy, the man from the BDSM club, and 'The Serpent'. She needed to think about the new theory in the thief's case that she and Tony had brainstormed. She'd use a Pensieve to review her memories._****_

The case was no longer hers, true, but she couldn't keep running from it so long as 'The Serpent' had decided to involve her personally. So now she had to marshal her courage to do what she did best when it came to solving enigmas, because it was very possible that Draco Malfoy had been playing her for a fool all this time.****


	23. Chapter 22 Part I

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **Chapter 22 was ridiculously long, so I had to split it in two parts. No worries, I will post the second half tomorrow. Until then, enjoy. *Head's up: next part, is extremely explicit.*

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 2<em>****_2 _****_Part I_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

Hermione stared at her reflection in her full size mirror with a critical eye.

Was the dress Ginny had helped pick out for her for tonight's event too risqué or would it be considered tasteful, despite its sexy cut and drape? Was she really sure she wanted to wear it? It wasn't too late to throw on something more conservative. She had a closet-full of dresses – one for every grand Ministry event she'd been cajoled (frequently by Kingsley), bribed (regularly by Harry), begged (habitually by Ron), and even blackmailed (notoriously by Ginny) to attend since the end of the war. With her wand, she could easily let out the bust and hips on an older gown, maybe trim off some ruffles here and there or change the colour of the fabric...

Normally, she wouldn't have given the matter _that_ much effort, but tonight was special for a mountain of different reasons, and Hermione wanted to put her best foot forward.

The annual Malfoy Christmas ball was a tradition that had been in place long before the last war, but back then, it had been an event catering to the elite, with only the oldest families and the most important political figures of the day invited. Obviously, the war had brought an end to that sort of frivolity, and with the Malfoy family in social ruins immediately thereafter, the parties had stopped altogether. New life had been breathed into the custom just five short years ago, however, after Draco had made his first successful Wizengamot prosecution and the newspapers had taken note of him again – this time for more than his infamous past associations. His good looks, playboy-ish attitude, devilish style, and being seen with Harry quite often as the two worked on cases together had assured society's fast forgiveness; he'd literally gone from social pariah to top ten 'most eligible' within a year of joining the M.L.E. Of course, Narcissa was quick to take full advantage of that fame, and soon, the Malfoy winter celebration had become a thing of prominence once more. Now, just five years later, it was a _highly_ anticipated event in the British wizarding world.

From the rumours that had been flying around over the last week, she gathered that Narcissa had not only planned every bit of tonight's party down to the smallest detail, but had also miraculously managed to keep the specifics a secret. According to the speculation rags, she'd spared no expense, though; Europe's finest wizarding caterers, decorators, and entertainers had all been observed standing in line at their respective Ministries to obtain international Portkeys to Britain – all scheduled to leave their home countries the same week as the Malfoy's party. "_Coincidence? We think not," _reporter Betty Braithwaite had even written in her editorial for _The Daily Prophet_.

Given such fervour, it wasn't surprising that invitations to the event were highly anticipated and desperately sought. _Witch Weekly_ had even dedicated a column to guessing the exclusive list, which had only served to up the hype. Hermione had actually garnered an invite every year, but this was the first one that had been hand-delivered to her by the Malfoy heir, himself ('Mister Eligible Number One').

Hence the reason she was fretting over her outfit now.

Frowning at her reflection in the mirror, she turned around and glanced over her shoulder at the back of her dress. Traditionally, the ladies in attendance at the Malfoy Christmas party favoured gowns in shades of green, silver, and black to honour the hosts. Hermione had wanted to stand out, however, and so Ginny had chosen for her the perfect gown to do so: a full-length, blood-red chiffon number with a plunging "V" neckline. The skirt fell straight and loose to the floor, its long line separated at the waist by a thin red belt with a lovely floral accent. Red crystals were sewn into the fabric in a pretty, feminine pattern so when she moved, the dress shimmered and sparkled. A simple pair of black T-bar patent sandals gave her five-foot, five-inch frame an extra height boost.

It was probably safe to say that she was rather taken with the dress' elegant simplicity. It was sultry and sophisticated, even if the back of the gown did mimic the front a bit before buttoning in the middle, only to gape open again from there to the sway of her spine. What worried her was that she might be revealing too much skin for this crowd. She knew Harry and Theo had both also merited an invite to the event, too, and didn't want to give either of them the wrong impression if she agreed to a dance later in the evening.

She was still of split mind about it when she began appraising her hair and make-up next. The beautician Narcissa had recommended to her had been spot on; the talented witch had tamed Hermione's hair and pinned it up into an elegant, romantic updo with tendrils framing her face and caressing her neck. She kept her make up natural, so as not to outdo the impression of the dress, but she _had_ paired it with a lovely red lipstick that matched her colouring and the dress rather fantastically. A borrowed diamond-ruby bracelet (a twenty-fifth anniversary gift from her dad to her mum that her mother insisted would look exquisite with the gown) and a pair of diamond stud earrings were her only jewellery.

Overall, she thought she looked rather stunning. The transformation was bound to knock Draco off his feet. At least, she hoped – then she'd be able to talk to him about… what had happened two weeks ago.

After their disastrous meeting in The Leaky Cauldron, she'd gone into an emotion funk. Her deep suspicion that Malfoy wasn't simply the man she'd sexually partnered with at the BDSM club, but also the elusive 'Serpent', and that he'd been toying with her for months to throw her off that dual trail had really messed with her head. A part of her recognised that her insecurities were as dark and possibly irrational as Ginny's had been, but it was _so difficult_ for her to look at him now and wonder if their every interaction over the past several years had been cleverly choreographed to slowly, thoroughly reel her in so that, when the time was right, she'd be so blinded by love and lust that she'd be completely unaware of his illegal activities. That would be a very Slytherin thing to do.

It would also mean he'd used her in every way a woman could be used by a man.

After contemplating that possibility for twenty-four whole hours, she'd inevitably surrendered to depression. During the day, she went to work as usual, learning the ropes of her new job (and dodging Malfoy at every opportunity, as she knew that seeing him would only tighten the screws in her heart, confusing her worse), but at night, when she was home in her bed, she'd cry. Her defeatism had gotten so pathetic, that at one point, she'd even succumbed to eating chocolate in bed (and then promptly got up and brush her teeth, of course).

By the time this week had begun, she'd put away her self-pitying and allowed anger to take its place, however. She'd used that fire to motivate a new obsession: discovering the truth. For days, she went over her memories with the help of a Pensieve. She made _lots_ of lists. She'd even laid out a topographical map of Britain and, using the old yarn and peg trick, had attempted to find a hidden pattern to the thief's movements.

Give her an 'O' for the effort, but the results were a miserable 'T'.

For starters, there were no definitive spoken phrases or behavioural patterns that were an exact match between Malfoy, 'The Serpent', and her BDSM one-off lover. There _were_ some similarities, true (like their cultured tones and their command of the English language), but that could be as much chance as anything else. Hell, Harry and Ron had both been known to call her a 'lioness' in the past, too.

The romantic gestures... well, aside from the rooms-full of flowers she'd received directly after the war from admirers and thankful community members, a few men _had_ sent her flowers and cards to indicate a romantic interest, including Ron, Viktor, Charlie, and Theo, so that was no definitive lead.

The Muggle technology usage, specifically, the phone call she'd received, was admittedly a bit more peculiar, but it also wasn't unheard of for a wizard or witch to know how to use cell phones in their post-war world. Fleur and Bill used them all the time to arrange which of them would be picking up their kids, for instance, and Hermione carried her phone on her at all times, in case her mother decided to call. When she'd tried a reverse look-up on the number that had called her phone the night she'd been in the bath, she discovered it to be an unregistered phone, one of those disposable pre-paid mobiles. That meant 'The Serpent' was relatively savvy to Muggle tech – which threw in the possibility that he or she might, in fact, be half-blood or Muggle-born, rather than pure-blood, as the investigative team had supposed.

As for the particulars of the theft, they had no discernible pattern, either – not a circle, not a square, not a pentagram, not even a 'S' shape. The thefts were completely random. The BDSM club's placement was as arbitrary as everything else on the map as well. She'd gleaned nothing from the exercise.

After two weeks of gnawing away at the problem, checking it from every angle (and nearly running herself ragged doing so), Hermione had to admit that she was no closer to discovering 'The Serpent's' identity or identities. Hell, for all she knew, it was a series of copycats working off the original's idea, each striking on their own in a completely independent one-off theft, using the momentum of the previous thefts as a cover for their own. Thinking like that, of course, only served to make her wonder, if that was the case, which one of the random 'Serpents' was her stalker? Had it been the one to target the Greengrasses, the Goyles, or Mrs. Avery? Maybe he'd struck at two of the spots, rather than one. Or perhaps he was choreographing the others, teaching them what to do and masterminding the whole plot?

The entire chase was enough to drive a person spare. If this had been a Muggle case, it probably wouldn't be so convoluted, but with magic in the mix, there were simply too many variables and too many possibilities. She'd need more and better proof, which she didn't yet have… and honestly, didn't quite know how to achieve given the randomness of 'The Serpent's' communication and the fact that her former BDSM lover hadn't reappeared at S&M this whole week (in vain, she'd cased the joint every night, hoping to spot him). It was a serious dilemma, as well as an impediment to her uncovering the truth of Malfoy's possible involvement.

Malfoy. Just thinking about him, about the way he'd looked at her as she'd backed away from him, made her chest ache and her eyes water again.

_"Come back to me._"

Had she overreacted and jumped to conclusions? Was he really innocent of the crimes she'd suspected of him? Maybe. Perhaps. Yet, even as she thought such a thing, her instincts shouted at her that she wasn't wrong. Her heart wavered with doubts.

Regardless, one thing _was_ certain: if Malfoy was both 'The Serpent' and her lover from S&M, avoiding him was certainly not going to ferret out such facts. She'd been acting foolish dodging him like some kind of terrified third year with her first broken heart.

Tonight, she was going to find out the truth. She'd take this bull by the horns and ask Draco directly about his involvement in the thefts and at the BDSM club... and the Founders help him if he dared to lie to her.

With a final look in the mirror, she decided not to change. She liked the dress, and would wear it to honour her friend (and yes, to turn heads—particularly a certain blond one—at the gala tonight, as Ginny had intended).

Raising the heavy fabric of her dress, she secured her custom-made wand holster to her outside thigh. She then minimized her wand and spelled it invisible, tucking it into the travel holster. It was her 'in case of emergency, break glass' (or in this case, unsnap holster) precaution against a repeat of the Zabini library incident. She may be hot for 'The Serpent', but she hadn't enjoyed being _Petrify_'d by him one bit, and wouldn't allow it to happen again.

_Time to face the music, _she thought as she left her bedroom, patting a snoring Crookshanks on the head. From her hearth's mantle, she grabbed her party invitation in one hand and with the other, reached into a bowl and grabbed a fistful of shimmering emerald powder (a new brand of Floo powder on the market that protected the traveller from injury, dirt and ash, and from arriving wind-blown and unkempt by encircling them with a Bubble Charm during their passage through the Floo network – brilliant!). She then stepped into her fireplace.

Throwing the powder, she shouted clearly: "Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire!"

In a whirlwind of emerald flames and a blurring of light, she left her flat resolved to confronting Draco tonight and finally getting some answers.

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione smiled cordially at the murder of pure-blood witches flocked around the refreshment table (so named in her mind because they reminded her of a group of crows, squawking their catty commentary back and forth). The gossip girls kept shooting her and her scarlet-coloured dress furtive glances when they thought she wasn't looking. Clearly, they were jealous that she'd taken such a daring chance on fashion (they all wore the prescribed colour schema of parties past).

Well, pooh on them.

She was determined not to let their wagging tongues increase her anxiety, nor to allow their wide-eyed, appalled expressions over her choice of outfit make her feel inferior. Besides, if the number of male admirers she had eyeing her said anything, her choice of dress was a success. Those ladies… they could suck on their own tongues until the bitterness ran dry, as far as she was concerned. She had much more important things to focus on anyway.

So far, she hadn't seen Draco's familiar shock of white-blond hair in the crowd, although to her surprise, she did spy a man on Narcissa's arm that wasn't her husband. Hermione did a double-take, realising only after staring at the oddly-familiar wizard for several minutes that she was looking at a transfigured Lucius Malfoy. The colour-charmed eyes and hair had almost thrown her off, but those fine, well-sculpted features of his were too bold to entirely distort with magic.

_That naughty minx, _she thought, nodding her head at Narcissa as the woman's glance turned her way. Narcissa's smile widened and she nodded back before returning to her conversation with some foreign Deputy Minister from Austria. Taking in the woman from a distance, Hermione wondered how many of these shindigs Lucius had covertly attended in disguise, rebuffing his exile to stand at his wife's side. He looked bored, but she noted how he frequently let his gaze wander over the crowd, the doors, and the balcony for signs of trouble.

Another thirty minutes passed, and Hermione had now consumed a full glass of Champagne and a plate of delicious hors d'oeuvres (the figs stuffed with ricotta, pistachio shavings, and dripping with golden honey were particularly sinful), and she still hadn't sighted Draco. He wouldn't dare miss his own mother's party, would he?

She decided to move away from the food tables and mingle, doing her utmost to keep a pleasant face on at all times and to be exceptionally polite. She was a high-ranking member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now and creating connections with politically influential people was one of her side goals for tonight's soiree (she might as well get something out of it aside from a queasy stomach from the confrontation she knew was coming). Her first stop: Narcissa Malfoy, the hostess.

As she and Malfoy's mother fell into an amicable and animated conversation, their easy rapport sent ripples of amazement amongst the invitees, especially when Narcissa trilled loudly about Hermione's "gorgeous frock" (and oh, how that sent the crows into shrieking behind their hands!). Lucius pretended never to have met her before, but she hinted with cleverly veiled commentary that she knew exactly who he was and what he was doing. A master of performance, he went stone-still only for a moment as he caught on to her insinuation, but ever the charming snake, he quickly rolled with the punches. By the time she'd left the couple to move on, Lucius and Narcissa both were giving her an appraising eye, and not in a bad way. Clearly, she'd impressed them.

Sometime in the middle of her conversation with the elder Malfoys, she felt an odd itch between her shoulders, as if she were being intently watched by someone in the room. She did her best to ignore it, but that feeling only seemed to intensify over time. She could swear it practically burned her every time some wizard kissed the back of her hand in greeting, too. Now it was two hours since her arrival, and she had yet to lay eyes on Draco… which was unsettling because she could swear it was him watching her. She wasn't sure how she knew such a thing, only that she could feel it deep within, her feminine intuition a persistent alarm in her head.

To calm her jittery nerves, she had indulged in a second, and then a third glass of Champagne, and was now feeling pleasantly mellow.

Theo suddenly appeared at her side without any kind of announcement and startled her so badly she sloshed the contents of her drink all over her hand and onto the marble floor. "Bother," she muttered, holding the drink out and checking her shoes and her dress to make sure they weren't spoilt by the accident. Thankfully, she appeared to have lucked out this time.

In an instant, a servant dressed to the nines materialized from the crowd to take her drink from her and to magic away the spill from the floor and her hand. A second one, dressed exactly the same, placed into that same hand a fresh, topped-off glass of bubbly. The two then zipped away without a word, as silent as they'd appeared, moving through the gathering of guests to tackle the next embarrassment with incredible tact and aplomb.

"Wow," Hermione commented, never having seen that kind of remarkable efficiency in her life. How fast had the twins been moving – Mach 5? "I think I just met Thing One and Thing Two."

"Care to dance?" Theo asked, holding out his hand to her. He seemed completely unfazed by what had just happened, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

"S-sure," she replied, still a little dazed by the speed of those strange, little men. She hardly noticed when Theo took her drink from her and set it on a side table, but when his warm palm slid into hers, she snapped out of it and realised that she was being proudly led to the centre of the dance floor by 'Most Eligible Bachelor Number Three'.

_Oh, the crows by the food table were probably ready to do real murder now, _she thought.

Theo turned, bowed, and took her into his arms. The footwork was familiar to her, as this was a traditional waltz – a dance she'd perfected over the years, thanks to being invited to soirees like this one, so she competently handled the turns. Her date was even greater skilled at this dance. More importantly, he was his normal, charming self, and Hermione couldn't be happier to see that he didn't seem the least bit sore at her for ending things. At least she could count on his friendship.

Of course, he took full advantage of any lingering guilt she was carrying around from the whole 'letting him down' thing. He _was_ Slytherin, after all. "Help a fellow out, Hermione?" he quietly requested, tightening his hand around her waist to draw her closer. When she inclined her head in a silent question as to the nature of his appeal, he explained, "This kind of affair is the perfect occasion for matchmaking, and the old crones are out in force tonight, making it their 'duty' to hook their daughters and granddaughters up with eligible, rich men. I'm not yet ready for marriage, so... could you pretend you're here with me, please?"

She laughed at his 'misfortune'. "Poor Theo," she teased him, "you must be the only wizard I know, aside from maybe Harry, who doesn't thrive on female attention." She sighed melodramatically, pretending to consider his request to get even with him for working her guilt to his benefit. "Oh, all right. I suppose I'll do you this favour, but it's only for tonight. And no getting fresh."

His grin was infectious. "I knew I could trust your misplaced Gryffindor honour!"

She gave him a bland look. "Oh, hush. I'd hate to hurt you now that we're friends again."

He snickered. "You wouldn't dare. You're too compassionate to harm even a fly."

She huffed, a tad insulted by his lack of faith. "First of all, I was an Auror until recently. How do you think I caught criminals – by inviting them to tea? Also, Malfoy, third year. Need I say more?"

He laughed. "The infamous slap! I'd almost forgotten. Did you know that for weeks after, Draco whined about what a bitch you were and how he wanted payback? Of course, it was your name I heard him moaning in his bed at night whenever he wanked. We shared a dorm and he didn't know the Silencing Charm then. I laughed at him frequently that year."

"Lovely," she drawled, but inside, she felt a strange spark in her core at the thought of Draco taking himself in hand and stroking to thoughts of her.

"You know, I think that was the day Malfoy began to fancy you."

"He did _not,_" she protested, stumbling. His assertion shocked her to her core.

With smooth grace, Theo sidestepped her foot, and continued to lead her around the room. "I've known him since we were small children, and I assure you, he had it bad for you all through school. He could never tell you, though. You know why. So, he taunted and tormented you instead to work off his guilt and frustration."

Recovering from her footwork faux pas, and with a quick glance around, realising in that moment how many people were actually listening in on their conversation, Hermione modulated her voice so others couldn't hear the rest of what she had to say. "That's patently ridiculous, and you know it. I'll grant that Malfoy _may_ have had lascivious thoughts about me, but that is easily explained away by hormones and puberty. I'm sure he thought about every girl who crossed his path in the same manner. No offence, but your gender are all like that at that age."

He smirked. "It's true, so no offence taken."

"In any case, you're wrong," she contended. "Draco was a prejudiced git back in school. He frequently called me the 'M' word, and he even once wished me dead, if you'll recall. It's clear he didn't fancy me. Quite the opposite in fact – he hated me."

Theo's smirk dropped away and he became suddenly very serious. "No, he didn't, Granger. Draco disliked what you stood for—as a Muggle-born with tremendous aptitude and power, you were a threat to his family's beliefs—but he never hated you. He'd hated Potter and Weasley because they were competition for your attention, among other things, but he didn't hate you. I think a part of him admired you, in fact, and as a result, you intrigued him. You still do."

Cheeks running as scarlet as her dress, she ignored that same prickling sensation up her spine indicating _someone_ was staring at her again, and their interest went beyond a simple curiosity.

"I think you misunderstood the situation. Malfoy wasn't‒"

"Draco was my childhood friend and my brother in Slytherin. We shared a dormitory for seven years, and we've swapped secrets since we were five, so I think I know him better than you do," Theo gently contradicted her. "Trust me when I tell you he's been arse over for you since we were thirteen, but in complete denial about it back then. It's what prompted him to warn you to run during the Quidditch World Cup that one time, when the D.E. attacked, however. It's also why he couldn't stop staring at you all night during the Yule Ball, when you were Viktor Krum's date. It's why he constantly antagonised you – because he wanted your attention, and it's what kept him from positively identifying you to his aunt during the war. It's why he decided to go into M.L.E. and the law despite his shady history – to prove to you, most of all, that he'd changed. You've influenced him for most of his life in ways you can't possibly imagine, Hermione."

Unsure as to how to refute such a bold, controversial statement, she chose to remain silent, contemplating everything he'd said.

"You really never saw it, did you?" Theo asked, amused by that fact. "You barely noticed him, while you... you were practically half his world then. How ironic."

Frustrated by his delight, Hermione retaliated by stepping on his toe rather hard during one turn. She smiled at him as she did it, too.

***.*.*.*.***

After another hour of socializing, and one very unpleasant interaction with Astoria Greengrass on her way back from the loo, Hermione felt the need for some solitude.

Extracting herself from Theo's side—he had grabbed her when Mrs Zabini attempted to corner him in the refreshment table and was currently using her as a buffer against the single women in the party who eyed him like they wanted to eat him—she nudged her way across the room, and slipped past the heavy velvet curtains that partially hid the French doors leading to the magically warmed terrace.

Her breath caught in her throat when she leaned against the balcony's balustrade and glimpsed for the first time the magnificent gardens sprawling below.

The undisturbed snow across the terraced upper lawn and its marble stairs leading down into the garden twinkled diamond-like under the moonlight. The glow of captured fairies (most happily caged with a honey comb to distract them – their favourite treat), blinked at her in happy, random patterns from the snow-covered boughs conifers and holly bushes on the stoned pathways leading to the famous Malfoy green labyrinth. Beyond the far edge of the maze, there appeared to be an ice pond lined by stone benches and more happily glowing fairies. Falling snowflakes from the sky made the place a winter wonderland straight out of her childhood fantasies.

With a start, Hermione noticed a beautiful green and silver sleigh with its hood down (protected from the elements by a cleverly disguised Bubble Charm, she noted) stationed at the foot of the terrace staircase, where she now stood. Two stunning, pure white horses were tethered to the front of the sleigh, but she couldn't see a driver. This was Malfoy Manor, however, so the carriage was probably charmed to move on its own when a guest decided to tour the enchanting grounds on this merry evening.

A sudden shiver of awareness ran down her spine, and all the hairs on her arms and nape stood on end, telling Hermione that she was no longer alone outside. She began drawing the edge of her dress up her thigh, preparing to grab her wand from its holster.

The stranger moved silently, like a shadow, his lithe form pressing against her back before she could counter. His arms wrapped around her small waist to rest on the balustrade, caging her in the same way he had trapped her in The Leaky Cauldron and suddenly, she knew who it was and no longer was afraid. In fact, her relief was so palpable, that she melted into his embrace, letting the back of her head rest against his shoulder. She shut her eyes and allowed his warmth to settle into her bones.

Draco had found her, at last.

"I wasn't sure you'd ever want to talk to me again," she admitted, her voice as shaky as her heart was right then.

He buried his face in her neck, his cold nose nuzzling her throat. He sighed, and it was heavy, hot against her skin, and filled with the frustration that comes with being denied. "You've been avoiding me," he murmured, dropping chaste kisses on her skin, fanning her desire.

Familiar with his moods, Hermione recognised the hint of anger in his soft voice and knew she was in for a tongue-lashing. His was the worst kind of anger, too: one that had simmered for a fortnight, given time to imagine the darkest of scenarios and to draw the worst of conclusions. There was only one way to counter it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, accepting the responsibility for their strange, almost-not-quite fight.

"You're sorry," he said, his voice dangerously mild, deceptive. "Were you sorry to Theo as well? Is that why you've danced half the night away with him and spent the other half hanging off his arm like a love-sick kitten?"

"I wasn't–" she attempted to explain, but he cut her off with a vicious hiss in her ear.

"I didn't realise you were such a tease, Granger."

A what?! He thought she was a–

"Tell me," he continued, clearly cognizant of the way her body stiffened at his accusation. His arms tightened in response, making it clear that he wouldn't let her run this time. "Do you enjoy playing with men? Is that your game then: make them want you, leave them hanging? First Weasley, then Theo, then Potter, and now me. My, how you've made the rounds, aspiring higher each time."

Hermione took a deep breath through her nose to try to keep herself from exploding in anger. How could he? How _dare_ he!

"If that's what you really think of me," she bristled, "then by all means, get out of my alleged line of 'conquests' and go back to your string of well-known mistresses!" Straightening her spine, she pushed him away from her, freeing her body from his hold. Whirling to face him with her back teeth clamped, her chin up, and her shoulders back, she spit, "I'm sure one of _them_ would be more than happy to satisfy your need for attention and to feed your ego, Malfoy!"

Like her, Draco's stance was rigid, his eyes hard and his mouth tight. He was girded for an argument.

"Why are you all over Theo tonight? You're practically drooling all over his cravat."

"What kind of question is that?" she demanded, flushing at his implication.

"Answer it," he growled, and took a step towards her.

Not intimidated in the least, Hermione stood her ground. "No, I don't think so," she simply said, tossing her head, turning her eyes aside in dismissal of him, and refusing to let any man dictate her friendships to her. And she hadn't been drooling all over Theo – what patented nonsense! "It's none of your bus-"

Draco lunged, driving her back against the stone rail, one arm wrapping around her waist to capture her again and the other gripping her chin forcing her to look at him. "Why was Theo touching you at all?" he repeated in an angry growl. "You broke up with him. He told me. Yet here you are, acting as if you're a couple with a secret, casting each other sly glances and touching like lovers. So, are you together or not?"

"How dare you paw all over me!" Hermione snarled at Draco. "Let me go this instant!"

"Answer the fucking question first!" he countered.

Stubbornly, she refused, staring him in the eye, not backing down from her position. He had no right to question her, as they weren't together in any sense of the word. They were fascinated with each other, true, but there had been no concrete discussion of a 'them'.

When she said nothing more, refusing to give into his demand, his brows lowered even further, his frown becoming an outright, angry scowl. His fury fuelled hers as they stood silently and glared at each other.

"Tell me," he seethed. He gave her a small shake, the hand at her chin moving to her shoulder. "Do you want him?"

With each sawing breath they both took, their chests pressed harder together, and Hermione cursed her decision to wear this dress after all. Even with her various spells on it to keep the gown in place, it was practically impossible to wear a bra, so Draco could probably feel her nipples hardening under the thin silk and chiffon.

Being aroused and angry wasn't a good combination, she knew from experience. Still, despite her body's reaction to his, she refused to be bullied by Draco. His dominant nature was pushing a line and she needed to reassert that a person willing to be submissive in their sexual relationship (not that they'd ever had a relationship aside from a working one) wasn't giving permission for that dynamic to continue outside the bedroom.

"None. Of. Your. Bloody. Business." She shoved at his fancy dress robes, but he was unmovable this time, his centre of gravity anchored by the angle and weight of his back foot. "Last time I checked, we were only co-workers, Malfoy, and you were shagging Greengrass _and_ Zeller, and who knows how many other women. I bet you even came here tonight with a date, didn't you?" His left eyelid twitched, confirming her suspicion. "Right. So, I don't owe you any explanations into my personal life, and you certainly have no right to demand them of me. Now let me go or I'll hex you into Kingdom Come."

To her surprise, rather than disgust, fierce lust for her darkened his expression. Before she could so much as think to oppose him, one of his knees had forced its way between her thighs, pressing erotically up against the heat of her and stroking back and forth. He bent her over his arm with light pressure to assure she couldn't interrupt his intentions. Her back came into contact with the cold stone of the balustrade and she shivered and gave a small yelp.

"Obedience doesn't come naturally to you, does it, Granger?" His eyes were alight with promises of sensual wickedness as his knee continued to rub her with just enough pressure to ignite her own desire. Against her outer thigh, she could feel his erection, prominent and straining. "I'll enjoy it tremendously when you'll submit to me."

Hermione's eyes widened at the blatant, arrogant statement of intention... and her traitorous body responded to it, her core going supernova hot and moistening. "H-how dare you!" she stuttered. Her face was so hot that the tips of her ears felt blistered. "You are way out of line!"

"Am I?" His knee stroked against her pussy again, causing her to shudder. The hand at her shoulder dropped to the waist of her dress, slowly pulling it up. "How so?"

She shoved against him again and turned her head, looking over his shoulder to assure no one else was watching and gossiping about what was going on out here on the balcony with a man who was, technically, now a lower-level employee within her department and who reported to her. That would be the last thing she'd need.

"I refuse to be hoodwinked by your natural charm, Malfoy. You can't manipulate me into answering your question by trying to seduce it out me, so go perpetrate your expert deceit elsewhere."

"Mm, I love it when you talk smart, my Granger," he murmured, leaning in and licking a trail from her neck to her ear.

Hermione gasped. "S-stop. You're trying to confuse me."

"Aren't you tired of repeating yourself yet?" he softly asked, nipping at her tender earlobe.

"N-no," she moaned when he took her lobe in his mouth and nibbled on it. "I- we _can't_." They still needed to talk. There were questions she had, things that had to be said...

"Yes, we can," he disagreed, mouth busy leaving wet, heady kisses down the column of her neck. "You want to."

She shook her head, trying to reclaim some rationality. The door was open, people might see... "I– I don't–"

"Don't lie to me," he rumbled, knee pressing up into her warm sex again. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. "I can _feel _your need for me."

"I–" She choked on a guttural groan when Draco abruptly latched onto her pulse and bit down. At the same time, he gripped her exposed hip and began yanking at her knickers, sliding them down. "Oh, God," she gasped, feeling the Warming Charm of the balcony against her feverish skin countering the cold stone at her back. "We can't–"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!"


	24. Chapter 22 Part II

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **For the full version of this chapter, including the smut, please check my profile for the link to my livejournal.

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 2<em>****_2 _****_Part I_****_I_**  
><strong>~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~<strong>

Malfoy tensed and went still. In his arms, Hermione went frigid from head to toe. A second later, her knickers were manoeuvered back into place and the skirt of her gown dropped back to the floor. Flushed and panting, Draco moved back and straightened them both, but he was careful to keep himself between Hermione and the intruder, so she could right herself and get her emotions under control.

"Tori, what an _un_pleasant surprise," Draco drawled, looking over his shoulder at the interloper.

Braced for an ugly confrontation, Hermione stepped out from around Draco, ready to face the music. The first thing she noticed was the balcony doors were shut. Good, this confrontation would have no witnesses. The second thing she focussed on was Astoria Greengrass, looking exquisite in an emerald, strapless gown, glaring murderously at her. Her serpent-like gaze stayed on her, looking for an opportunity to strike.

Draco turned around, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at the witch. "What are you doing out here?"

Astoria's eyes almost bugged from her head with astonishment as she turned to her former boss. "What?" she screeched, tiny hands balling into fists at her side. "I have every right to be here – I'm your _date!_ How dare you neglect and disrespect me to come out here and maul that... that... _filthy Mudblood whore_!"

Hermione flinched, not so much at the insult (she'd expected something that foul from Greengrass' nasty mouth), but at hearing Astoria was here as Draco's date. She'd been right in suspecting him of coming with someone else. He'd obviously been hedging his bets, intending on taking someone to bed tonight, one way or the other.

He'd tricked her, just as she'd feared, the bastard.

Well, he could just forget the rest of her apology for what had happened over the last two weeks. He could choke on waiting for it, in fact, as it wouldn't be passing her lips tonight or ever! She also wanted to kick herself for coming here tonight in the hopes of clearing the air between them. What kind of foolish, wishful delusion had she been under?

"I'll just leave you two lovers to it, shall I?" she bitterly snarked, and headed towards the balcony doors, intending on going back inside. She needed another glass of Champagne, badly.

In a quick snatch-and-grab, Draco had her arm in his hand, and he restrained her from leaving.

Before Hermione could yell at him for it, he turned back to Greengrass, his face and words thunderous. "First, do not ever utter that vile word in my presence again. Second, Granger was invited here by my mother, so you will respect her or I'll have you escorted out. Third, I didn't _ask _you to be my date, as you'll recall. My mother, good hostess that she is, required of me to escort you here tonight when you unceremoniously dropped by for a visit yesterday and whined about not having anyone to go with for tonight's ball. You manipulated her into taking steps to assure you, as her guest, were made comfortable, so don't assume my attendance with you here tonight meant anything more than my mother feeling sorry for you and me wanting to make her happy."

Astoria's face turned puce, her eyes snapping to Hermione's. Obviously, she didn't enjoy being humiliated in front of an audience... especially one who had been snogging her date and lover.

In an instant, Astoria had her spines back up. "Forgive me for assuming you might have shown the decency to ask me on your own. Perhaps I've put too much stock in your commitment to our well-established relationship, but I was quite sure that being told I would make 'the perfect Malfoy bride' while in the throes of passion was your promise of our future together. I never would have let you take such liberties with me, otherwise."

Draco jerked back as she slapped hard at his honour.

Hermione tugged at his hold on her, wanting away. This lover's quarrel wasn't any of her business.

If Draco noticed the urgency of her silent request to leave, he showed no inclination to allow her it. He held tightly to her, refusing to let go. His attention, however, never wavered from the witch in front of him and he addressed her in a crisp, no-nonsense tone. "I haven't been with you for weeks, Astoria, so stop romanticising the memories. And for the record, you _would_ make the perfect Malfoy bride – if I cared to be saddled to such an ideal, which I do not. I won't pick my wife based on a set of ancient, outmoded criteria about magical blood purity, wealth, and lineage. Mine will be a marriage based on other, more important compatibilities." He sighed, staring with pity at his lover. "There was no promise between us, Tori. It was just sex, and you know it. We both enjoyed it, but it's done now. Let it go."

For a second (only the tiniest fraction of one), Hermione felt sorry for Astoria, who looked as though she'd just been kicked in the gut – hard. The woman's face was so white that even in the moonlight, she seemed pale... as white as the snow falling around them.

The moment passed, however, when Astoria turned on her. Eyes narrowed, she smiled maliciously at Hermione. "He'll tire of you, eventually. Draco's history speaks for itself." She tossed a disgusted glance at her now-ex. "Every Malfoy man is drawn to the forbidden. It's in their nature." She purposefully looked at Draco's left forearm, covered as it was under his dress robes. The implication was clear, though.

Draco sighed again. "Tori..."

Greengrass lifted her eyes once more to Hermione, only this time, they were filled with bitter tears despite the vicious fury upon her face. "He's a cowardly, untrustworthy snake in his heart, Mudblood, incapable of being a lion – not for you, or for any woman. Once he's had you... you'll realise that, too."

She turned, threw open the balcony doors, and rushed out then. Her silk skirts flew behind her as an emerald wave as she sprinted through the ballroom and out towards the main entrance of the house.

Quickly, Draco moved him and Hermione out of the view of those inside the ballroom. With a wave of his wand, he shut and locked the balcony doors for good measure as well.

Hermione tugged her wrist free of his hold, finally and stepped away. Despite the Warming Charm around the terrace, she felt cold.

Draco's expression was guarded, and he observed her through shuttered eyes that were shadowed, as he stood with his back to the moon. Casually, he leaned against the wall of the house and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, attempting, she thought, to ease her concerns that he'd want to pick up where they'd left off. That was the furthest thing from her mind just then, and honestly, it wouldn't be something she'd welcome. The previous passion they'd shared had cooled and soured, and they were now left with only the naked unease of things unspoken and questions unanswered on both sides of the divide.

She bit her bottom lip, averting her eyes. "I think I should go."

"Scared off by what you heard?" he sneered, sounding more disappointed than resentful. "You're not much of a Gryffindor, are you?"

"Stop it," she scolded, not wanting to play his game anymore. "We're not school children, Malfoy. Provoking me further won't help your cause."

"I'm not the one childishly running away when things get difficult or awkward, Granger."

Feeling her face heating in embarrassment, Hermione glared at him. "Perhaps I have nothing left to say to you."

"From your perspective, I'm sure that's true, but there's still plenty _I'd_ like to hear from that lovely mouth of yours," he said, his voice dipping low, into the tone meant to entice her into letting down her guard. "The way you were moaning my name before... I want to hear that again and again tonight."

Desire and anger warred inside her. "That was nothing – a _mistake__._ I was caught up in the moment."

"A mistake?" he rumbled, twin spots of pink appearing on his cheeks.

Hermione almost took it back, knowing she was lying through her teeth, but her pride wouldn't allow her to do so. Instead, she remained silent, refusing to acknowledge his mounting fury.

"I'm still hard for you despite everything that happened, and you think it was a _mistake_?" The word left his mouth in an angry hiss.

She nodded. It had been. He'd come here with another woman (regardless of the reason, it _had _been a date between him and Greengrass), and even guessing that correctly in advance, she'd still let him seduce her. If he'd come single, as she had, it wouldn't have been an issue, but he hadn't, and there was an unspoken, unwritten code about taking a man from another woman's side – specifically that you didn't do it. Only the most selfish, awful women did such a thing, and she didn't want to think she was like that, even unwittingly.

Draco looked furious again. "Do you make such _mistakes _with all the men of your acquaintance? Isn't that how it started with Weasley – an unintended kiss in the Chamber of Secrets. I remember reading about it in the papers. What was it like, Granger: 'oops, sorry, Weasel King – I didn't mean to kiss you and get you to fall for me... it was a _mistake_'? I'd say that was a pretty big one, if so. And what about Potter, did you make a _mistake_ with him in your office that day? 'Sorry, Scarhead, I didn't mean to get you so horny that you'd jump me'. What about Theo – make any _mistakes_ with him that you'd like to share with the rest of us poor, deluded males who follow after you like desperate wolves on the trail of a bitch in heat? And what exactly did you do on the roof that night with 'The Serpent'? Any _mistakes_ there or–"

Her hand flew on its own accord, cutting through the air and slapping him hard across his pale cheek with such force that his head snapped to the side. Her palm stung, and a red shape bloomed on his cheek.

"I won't apologise. You were being disgusting and you deserved that," she calmly informed him, despite the fact her heart was pounding in her chest. She'd struck him – again. When they'd been children, he'd run for it, shocked by her for the first time in their acquaintance, realising that he'd gravely underestimated her. Now, as a grown man, he'd seemed prepared for her violence, almost as if he'd expected it, unlike that time in her office.

Because he had, she suddenly realised. He'd goaded her into striking him, hadn't he? But why? Did he feel it was some sort of deserved retribution for hurting her with Astoria? He stared down at her, a strange emotion sliding through his eyes, and for the first time, Hermione understood just how little she really knew about _this_ Draco Malfoy, the sexually dominant, powerful man who was so different from the scared, bully of a boy he'd been... and that thought made her nervous in a way she'd never been with him before.

"Yes, I did deserve it, and I don't expect you to apologise," he finally admitted, his voice soft, careful. Slowly, he reached for her, giving her time to move away. When she didn't, his hand cupped her cheek and his thumb traced her bottom lip. "But don't tell me this is a mistake, Hermione, because... it's too late for me. I'm in too deep."

The guilt and regret over that prideful lie ate away at her. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. "I'm not sorry for striking you, but I am sorry for saying such a horrible thing. You're not a mistake, Draco. I... I was just so jealous of what Astoria said, of what she's had with you, and I'm honestly afraid of trusting this – of trusting you with everything." She peeked between her lashes at him. "I know what you are and what you expect from me, but... I don't think I can go into that kind of relationship on a casual basis. I'm not built for it. I don't want to have my heart broken again."

His eyes shuttered to half mast and she stepped forward close enough for the edges of his robes to brush against her hand and for his lips to hover a mere inch above hers. "And what if I were to promise you that nothing about it would be casual or short-term?" His nose gently brushed up the side of hers. "Would you give yourself to me once more, submit and let me love you?"

She met his silvery gaze, delved into his soul, and _knew_ – not with her eyes, but with her heart. "You're _him_. That night at S&M, it was you, wasn't it? I knew it."

Draco shuddered against her and groaned. Then, he moved so fast, she only had time to gasp in alarm before she found herself wrapped in his arms, his hot mouth plundering hers, the marble balcony rail digging into the small of her back once more as he pushed her against it.

He held her tightly to him as he worked his mouth over hers, alongside her jaw, and over her ear. "I've been waiting for you to come back to me." His cock was a hard line along her lower belly as he slowly slid against her, working the friction and heat between their bodies. "You're finally ready, aren't you? You're ready for me, and this isn't a mistake. _We're_ not a mistake."

_No, not a mistake_, she wanted to say, but her mouth was currently occupied with tasting Draco's lips and tongue. Burning with renewed desire, she returned his fevered kisses with equal ferocity. Her hands buried beneath his silky hair, her nails scraping his scalp, and earning her low, lusty moans from him – sounds that shot straight into her and rocked her core.

One of his hands slowly travelled down her covered thigh, and then lower, grabbing her beneath the knee. He hitched her leg up and swung it around his hip in a blatant, sexual move that drove his cock harder into her. Hermione arched her back, her head tilting back and exposing more skin for his questing mouth.

"_Gods__,_" he whispered in awe as he nuzzled the tops of her breasts, licking them and sucking on the soft flesh that peeked above her dress. His other hand dropped below her other thigh, he bent, and suddenly she was lifted off her feet. Delighted by the new position, she gamely wrapped her legs around his hips, digging her heels in his firm arse, pulling his lower body in closer contact with hers. His head slanted and his mouth pressed over her ear. He was breathing hard when he whispered, "I'm going to have you again, right now. No more waiting."

Hermione nodded, murmured some incoherent agreement, and clung to Draco as her world began to spin out of control.

The familiar feeling of Apparition was a dizzying trip that left her momentarily discombobulated for a few seconds after they arrived at their destination. When her brain stopped whirling, she glanced around to note that they were now in a bedroom, presumably somewhere in the upstairs of the Manor. When she spied the dark, satin coverings on the bed, visible only by the moonlight streaming into the room from the set of tall, cathedral-styled windows lining one whole wall, she knew this was Draco's bedroom.

Draco carried her towards the bed, stopping to press her against one of the tall, wooden posts and ravish her mouth. He thrust his hips into hers again and again, building up her desperation until it reached a crescendo... then he pulled back and let the sensation fade. Hermione whimpered, wanting to ride that journey to its end, but Draco was master of her pleasure tonight. She'd conceded to his demand and would give him this chance to prove to her that what they had could last beyond a few tumbles, as Astoria had assumed.

His mouth hovered over hers, unmoving, and their gazes met. In the bright light shining down through the windows, they could see each other well. "I'm going to bury my cock so deep inside you tonight that you'll feel it in your soul."

Shocked by the naked emotion and resolve in his eyes, Hermione's breath caught...

Theo had been right. Draco was in love with her.

Her heart trembled. 

***.*.*.*.***

She landed with a muted '_thump' _on the most exquisitely soft mattress she had laid in her life, the fine satin sheets tantalising to her senses. A soft whisper from Draco, and Hermione's dress and knickers were vanished, and silken ribbons appeared, zooming forward from the bedside table to wrap around her ankles and wrists. They magically tied themselves to the four wooden posts of the bed, spreading her open. She was unable to lift her head and so she remained motionless.

Breath coming in short pants, eyes wide, Hermione had never been more aroused in her life. Even the night at S&M couldn't compare, for sex with a stranger was exciting, but this... this was the repeat she'd been hoping to have for months, and the anticipation of it had been an aphrodisiac unlike any she'd ever known. Her body was hot and slick, ready to welcome Malfoy back inside her.

From beyond her peripheral vision, Draco was undressing, the slow rustle of his clothing being removed and folded telling her he was in supreme control and in no hurry. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from moaning aloud at the thought of him calmly watching her, splayed out so wantonly on his bed, observing how her body trembled and went liquid with desire.

Firm, sure fingers caressed her foot, and she almost jumped. Draco slowly unbuckled her sandals and pulled them off. They fell to the carpet with a dull '_thud_'. To her surprise, against the arch of one foot, his erection pressed. At first, she remained still, unsure what he wanted, then he rolled his hips, sliding against her, and she understood what he expected of her. Obeying the silent command to rub, she moved her foot over him, stroking the steely brand through his woollen trousers. Under her caressing toes, she felt him grow harder, thicker, impossibly longer. She traced his size, re-discovering him, remembering how it had felt to have that delicious flesh between her fingers, sliding across her tongue, and touching the back of her throat.

To reward her obedience, Draco massaged the arches of her feet, her ankles, and her calves. "Drac- oh!" she gasped with pleasure and surprise when he went to his belly on the mattress and pressed his warm, wet lips to the sensitive skin behind one knee. His talented mouth continued upwards, placing open-mouthed kisses to her soft, inner thighs. "Oh, Draco, yes..." she moaned as he sucked particularly hard on a patch of skin an inch to the left of her core.

He lifted his head. "I didn't give you permission to speak, Hermione."

"No, you didn't," she agreed, "but–"

He gently bit the inside of her thigh and she clamped her mouth shut, vowing to stay silent from then on. She'd forgotten her role.

"It seems difficult for you to give up control this time," he said, trailing his fingers up her thighs. "Can you really do this again, or was what happened at the club just an experiment? I need to know what our limits are, Granger, and where this is leading, so I can best gauge how to guide us tonight." He glanced at her, noting her restraint and rewarding her with a genuine smile for it. "Speak and be honest."

"I want this, but only in private," she admitted. "I can only be this way when we're alone. At work, I'll have to be your boss. Can you accept that?" she asked him, nervous that this might be a deal-breaker between them.

He crawled up her body until they were even and he stared down at her on hands and knees, contemplative. "You're a sexual submissive, but don't want a Total Power Exchange." He nodded. "That works well with my style. I'm a sexual Dominant who doesn't enjoy the idea of having absolute control over a woman all the time. It's too exhausting a responsibility. I'd prefer to keep such fun to bedroom activities. And I completely understand about needing to appear professional in the work place. I'll _try _not to let my want for you bleed over there." He gave her a sheepish, naughty grin that was actually quite adorable. "That's the best I can promise, though, because it'll be difficult for me not to want to bend you over your desk someday, as that's a particular fantasy of mine."

She raised an eyebrow at that, intrigued by the image.

As if he'd read her mind, Draco chuckled... but his amusement was short-lived as the seriousness of the situation returned. He shifted his weight onto one palm, with the other hand, stroked the tips of his fingers over her cheek. "Truthfully, I think this dynamic will work well for both of us, because of our careers and our personalities. What do you think? Care to give it a good whirl, Granger?"

Well, that was undoubtedly the fastest negotiation she'd ever tabled – and she'd done so completely naked and tied up in someone else's bed. Another first she'd give to Draco.

At least they were compatible in their lifestyle goals. That was more than she'd ever shared with Ron or any other man she'd taken up with over the last decade. Perhaps, then, she could trust this hope... give it a real go.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, decision made.

"How may your slave serve you, Master?" she offered, repeating the words she'd learned that night at the club under his tutelage. She leaned into his touch like a cat wanting to be petted, yearning for his affection.

Draco's eyes darkened with memory and lust as the words conjured memories for him as well, and he groaned his approval. Dipping his mouth, he claimed her lips in a sweet, hungry, too-soon-over-for-her-tastes kiss.

"Tonight, my little slave, you will obey my every command, without question or hesitation," he firmly instructed her, "and you may trust me when I tell you that I will not harm you. I will assure your pleasure, even as I take mine from you." He petted her cheek, caressing it to soothe and reassure her. "We'll start off as we did the first time we were together: incremental steps. I need to test your limits again – to be sure that you _really_ want everything I do to you and where the line needs to be drawn. At the club, you allowed me to give and take without restraint, and it was…" He licked his lips and trembled against her. "It was unforgettable. Now, though, I'll require you to communicate with me. I want you to allow the experiences we'll share, but not to be overwhelmed or frightened by them. When that happens, I'll trust you to tell me. Do you understand and agree?"

Anticipation tightened Hermione's throat and made her heart pound as she easily consented to his terms. Gods, she wanted this – wanted _him_ so much, she could taste her desperation across her tongue!

"Choose a safe word," he instructed.

"Azure," she automatically murmured – the same as the first time they'd been together. He repeated the word to let her know he'd heard it and understood the implication of its use.

Then, satisfied that they both understood the rules, Draco began. 

**~*~*~*~*~(cut scene)~*~*~*~*~****  
><strong>  
>When it was over, she slumped, her thighs so achy and unsteady that she was unable to support her weight any longer. Draco rolled her onto her back before she could drop, and she flopped boneless and sated to the mattress. He left her there for a moment as he got up from the bed, and distantly, she heard the sound of a faucet turning and water being rung from a cloth.<p>

Alone, staring up at the ceiling, she allowed her mind to drift over the night's bizarre sequence of events. She'd come to the party to find Draco and apologise, but instead, she'd ended up Theo's faux date, which had been, ironically enough, the catalyst for her and Draco actually coming together… and fighting. Then, Astoria had shown up and Hermione had been sure that whatever she and Draco would say to each other after that disaster wouldn't be good. And it hadn't (Merlin, had she really struck him again?). But something had shifted in those few moments, and the man who frustrated her enough to want to tear her hair out had dropped his walls. He'd submitted first, and that had allowed her to feel safe enough to try it, too.

What he'd done to her here tonight had forever changed her, even more so than their night together at the club. Tonight, she'd made a conscious choice to adopt submission into her sexual life, and now that the door was unlocked, she knew she'd never be able to go back. She'd never want to. This was what she needed.

It seemed to be what Draco needed as well. He'd been absolutely beautiful releasing into her body tonight, his rapturous expression one of a man having found his purpose in life. Unlike at the club, she'd been able to actually see his face this time, their initial missionary position allowing them an intimacy their secondary position had not. Watching him come undone as he'd spilled into her that first time—beautifully backlit by the golden firelight that had magically come to life the moment they'd Apparated into his bedroom—had been a heart-shaking experience and one she'd never forget. How she'd love to see that transcendent expression on his face every day for the rest of their lives!

The bed dipped as Draco returned, and she glanced up at him through sleepy eyes, exhausted but happier than she could ever remember being.

"I'm proud of you," he said, kissing her and cleaning her skin with a damp rag. He sponged away her sweat, and carefully wiped between her legs. He untied her wrists, massaged them, and held her close to his chest as they snuggled down under the covers together. "You did so well, love. You took it all, just as I knew you could, and you were gorgeous doing so. We both needed this." He kissed her temple as she lay, limp against him. "I know we still have a lot to discuss, but right now... you should rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Thank you," she murmured, around a small yawn. "Oh, Draco, thank you so much."

He kissed her lips, softly, sweetly. "It was my pleasure, truly."

"Mine, too," she admitted and closed her eyes, relaxing into the warmth of her lover's embrace.


	25. Chapter 23

_**Disclaimer**_**:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for your continuous support in** The Serpent!** I'm so damn lucky I have such amazing readers!

I won't be able to post during the holidays; I have to squeeze some studying time for my upcoming exams, I have a myriad social obligations I'd rather avoid, but I can't, so don't be alarmed!

There are only 7 more chapters to go, plus an epilogue, and **The Serpent **is done!

To end this long-ish author's note, I wish to each and every one of you Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year's! I hope all your dreams and wishes come true!

_**The Serpent**_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**  
><strong><em>Chapter 2<em>****_3_**

****~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~****

A loud banging on her door made Hermione look up from the novel she'd been reading while curled up under a lap blanket on her sofa. Frowning at the pages (she was just getting to the good part, too!), she sighed and closed the book, placed it on the side table, and stood up to greet her guest.

Whoever it was sure was impatient, she thought as the banging continued.

Her hand grasped the door knob, but before she could open the door a sudden suspicion gave her pause. What if it was Draco? Hermione's stomach churned, and she bit her lip, anxiety making her nervous.

Earlier this morning, after their amazing sex-fest, Hermione had woken up in Draco's bed alone. His side was cold to the touch, too, telling her he'd left her side long before she'd opened her eyes. At first, she'd wondered if he hadn't just gone down to get something to eat, or if he was in the loo. When the light from the windows in his room evolved from the grey just before dawn to the rosy pink of a rising sun to the brilliant, cheerful yellow of the day's official start, she finally realised he wasn't coming back to bed.

Of course, the insecure part of her brain immediately chimed in that he'd pulled a runner on her. She'd quashed that thought, though, not wanting to believe it.

Then, she'd sat up on an elbow and looked around... and found the white necklace box set on the bedside table. As she'd examined it, she'd found an inscription imprinted upon the simple green bow that had been tied around it: "For my lovely". _Generic,_ she'd thought, but surely Draco had meant for her, right? As she'd picked it up, her curiosity had flared to life – as had an uneasy feeling within the pit of her stomach. She prayed it wasn't what she'd suspected.

Opening it, she'd found inside a gorgeous ruby and diamond necklace lying upon white satin – a perfect accessory to the dress she'd worn last night.

Rather than be flattered by such a lavish and beautiful gift, Hermione's heart had sunk into the floor. It had been _exactly_ what she'd suspected: payment for services rendered. She'd read in the papers the stories about Draco's generous gifting of jewellery to his mistresses over the years. 'Tokens of possession', was what that horribly mocking Mrs. Smythe had called them in her Pink Column. Even Astoria had been wearing a pair of new emerald and pearl earrings the day after Hermione had seen her and Draco shagging in his office.

As she'd fingered the necklace, a horrible sensation had come over Hermione that she'd succumbed to Draco's charms just like the other women in his life had done, and the necklace was her compensation for a night well spent.

Astoria's warning had come back to her then: _"__Draco's history speaks for itself… Once he's had you,_ _you'll realise that, too."_

Naked under sheets smelling strongly of their sex and sweat from the night before, all of the anxieties left behind from her failed attempts at relationships in the past and everything she knew of Draco's womanising ways from the gossip rags ate away at her in small nibbles. When the pressure became too much, and the voices in her head had done a smashing job of spreading their poison through her morning-after nerves, she'd dashed up from the bed, gathered her clothes, and with shaky hands and tear-filled eyes, had redressed, intending on getting the hell out as soon as possible.

When she'd arrived home a few minutes later, she'd crawled into her bed, but been unable to sleep, as memories from the night before had tormented her. Despite the trials her body had undergone—and what she and Draco had done together had been really rather tame by the usual BDSM standards, as she understood it—she'd become aroused again just reliving those moments in her head. Masturbating had helped, but a sick feeling of dread had followed on its heels and she'd ended up giving in to the tears that had threatened since she'd found that accursed necklace. It had taken her crying it out of her system and a cold shower to finally give her some peace.

She'd spent the rest of her Sunday afternoon cleaning her flat from baseboards to track lighting – all without magic. The effort had left her exhausted, grimy, and sweaty (calling for another shower), but at least it had helped her mind relax and stop obsessing over the Draco situation... and the fact he hadn't tried to contact her at all today.

After a modest salad she'd tossed together with some left-over cold chicken (she'd eaten too many of those deliciously fatty hors d'oeuvres the night before at the party!), she'd settled in to read, "The Other Queen" by Philippa Gregory, one of her new favourite authors. She'd been putting the new release off since September, and had finally given herself the opportunity to start in on it.

Now, though, as the banging continued on her front door, she understood it might be time to face the music. If Draco had come to confront her about leaving (and leaving the necklace behind), she'd make it clear to him where she stood – she was no whore to be purchased until he tired of her. She refused to let any man treat her as such, either!

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself, and plastered a smile on her face as she opened the door. Her breath exploded from her in a relieved exhale a second later as she realised her mystery guest wasn't who she'd expected at all.

"Oh, thank God, it's you," she exclaimed, gripping Ginny's hand and pulling her through into her flat. "I need to talk to someone. You'll do nicely."

Ginny grinned, anticipation alight in her honey-brown eyes. "Oh-ho! What _have _you done this time, Hermione Jean Granger?"

***.*.*.*.***

"Dear Merlin," Ginny stared at her wide eyed. "You... You actually _fucked_ Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione groaned and pulled her knees to her chest as she sat on her favourite club chair by the fire place. "He fucked _me, _actually," she murmured, squirming in her seat, "quite thoroughly, if I must say."

Her best friend opened and closed her mouth a few times... before erupting into giggles.

Hermione's head snapped up. "Are you _laughing at me_?" she demanded.

Deep, rolling laughter spilled from Ginny's lips and she doubled over in the love seat, tears of mirth running down her smooth cheeks as she repeatedly slapped the cushion as if the entire situation was hilarious.

"Stop it! It's not funny!" Hermione cried, pouting.

"Oh, but it is," Ginny disagreed. "You've been lusting after that man for _a long time – much longer than that day you walked in on him and Astoria_. You were just in denial about it. I'd almost given up on you doing something about your attraction, too. Now this! Circe's skirt, 'Mione you _do_ know how to 'Exceed Expectations'!"

The double entendre was intended, clearly. Blushing, Hermione leaned forward and whacked her friend with a throw pillow. Ginny only laughed harder.

"Come on, spill!" her friend demanded, waggling her eyebrows and leering. "I want details!"

"No!" Hermione pointed a finger at her exuberant friend. "We are not to talk about it – ever!"

"You can't be serious," Ginny snorted. "Of course we'll talk about it."

"No, we won't."

Neither said anything for a few seconds, and the silence stretched.

Ginny, of course, wasn't one to let things go.

"Was he any good?"

Hermione groaned. "Ginny!"

"What?" her bestie frowned. "There _are_ all kind of rumours about his prowess! You can't blame a girl for being curious."

Hermione arched a brow and sniffed. "I don't kiss and tell," she loftily said.

Ginny smirked at her. "I seem to recall a similar conversation we had a few weeks ago. Remember how that went?"

She did, and her blush deepened. "I hate you," she grumbled, hugging the throw pillow to her chest.

Ginny snickered. "No, you don't. You love me, and that's why you'll tell me everything eventually." When Hermione didn't reply, though, her best friend picked up on the serious vibe in the air and lost her amusement. "Did something go wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned. She leaned forward in her seat and put her hand over Hermione's knee in a supportive gesture. "Was he an arse to you afterwards?"

Hermione bit her lip, took a deep breath, and then started talking in a rush, trying to get everything out without revealing _too_ much. "I'm not sure what to think about him, Gin, honestly. He was gone when I woke up and his side of the bed was cold, which meant he'd been gone a long time. I wondered if he'd even stayed with me after we'd... God, what if he hadn't? What if he'd jumped right up and taken a shower to wash it all away? He could have, and I'd never have known because I was out cold in his bed, thinking him beside me the whole time!"

"Hermione..." her friend tried to interrupt, but Hermione talked right over her, knowing that if she didn't get at least this much out now, she never would. Sometimes, her anxiety worked like that.

"And then, there was this gift box next to the bed," she continued rambling on. "It didn't have my name on it, but I _think_ it was for me. The ribbon attached to it said 'my lovely' – which he sometimes calls me, but which is about as generic as saying, 'my girl' or 'baby', don't you think? Oh, but inside the box was a beautiful necklace! It matched the dress I'd worn to the ball. As soon as I touched it, though, I felt cold and ugly – as if I was being bought off. Was I, or was he just being nice? I mean, the papers all mentioned that he'd given his mistresses jewellery, too, and it felt like that's what he was trying to tell me: that I was good enough to fuck, but like any high-paid whore, that's all it would ever be. And I became confused, because I'd thought... I'd believed we'd made a connection last night."

"Hermione..." Ginny sounded a little frustrated now, but Hermione just _had_ to finish. It was like a queer pressure under her chest to get it all out.

"So, when he didn't show up by nine o'clock to talk to me about any of it, I... I figured he was letting me know that our time was over and my services were no longer necessary," she bitterly stated. "I'd never felt so humiliated, Gin, so I... I Floo'd home right away. No stopping to pass 'GO' or collect any sort of silly money." She rubbed a hand over her furrowed brow, trying to ease the small headache that was beginning in the centre of her forehead. "The truth is I couldn't stand it if I meant nothing more to him than that rotten slag, Astoria Greengrass, had – which is a conundrum, as a part of me thinks I shouldn't feel so deeply about him anyway. In fact, there's this screaming voice in my head telling me it's suicidal to have any sort of feelings for that man, because... look at his track record! I mean, he's _Draco Malfoy_, 'Mister Number One Eligible Bachelor' in Britain. He's had so many women, that if you lined them up from here, you'd be able to walk across their heads to the continent! He's also the same git who made fun of my overbite when we were thirteen by saying to me, 'sorry, I don't speak beaver, Granger'. I mean that's funny now, in retrospect, especially given the double meaning to the term 'beaver', but when I was thirteen, not so much. I'd written home, begging my parents for braces because of that comment. And now... well, technically I'm his superior at work. He's never going to respect my authority, especially since he knows what I look like naked and squirming. I've ruined the professionalism in our relationship." She felt on the verge of crying now, having worked herself up into a frenzy of doubt and fear. "But you want to know the absolute worst part of it all?"

"Is there one?" Ginny dryly asked.

"Yes! There is!" Hermione insisted, slamming a closed fist onto the arm of the cosy chair like a gavel going off. "Every time I look at my office desk, I'll remember him telling me he's had this particular fantasy about bending me over it, and I'll never be able to work on it again! In fact, I'll have to quit the office altogether to escape it, because now I know I want the same bloody thing!" She took another deep breath, let it out fast, and put her hands over her eyes, trying not to scream. "Gods, what am I going to do, Gin? He's in me now, but I don't know if I can trust he wants more from me than just sex, or even if he's uninterested now that he's had me."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, absorbing everything she'd said. When she replied, it wasn't what Hermione had expected her friend to say.

"Sorry, but this one's all on you this time, 'Mione."

"What?" Hermione asked, dropping her hands and looking over at her friend, surprised. What had _she _done wrong? Draco was the one who'd left the room and hadn't put in another appearance. He was the one who'd left her a token gift that may or may not have been a bribe (and regardless of its intention, had left her feeling awfully used). He was the one who hadn't contacted her all day to try to explain any of it!

Her girlfriend shrugged. "You broke Gryffindor's rule numero uno: take a situation by the throat and demand either answers or surrender – preferably both."

"That's... not very subtle," Hermione pointed out.

Ginny waved that concern away. "I think the working for the Ministry this long has made you forget who you really are deep down inside. Subtlety is for Slytherins, my dear. If it had been me, I'd have hunted my man down like a lioness and roared in his face until he told me the truth. Hell, for all you know, he might have been making breakfast for you or something. Did that occur to you?"

Already feeling guilty, Hermione felt even worse when she mulled over her friend's words. "He has a wait staff. Why would he cook? I doubt he even knows how. Still, I waited at least two or three hours. He just never came back!"

"Maybe he popped over to Paris to pick up some special morning pastries for you and was caught in an International portkey line coming home. Or he could have been out riding his broom to get some fresh air, like Harry does every morning as part of his daily routine." She started ticking ideas off on her fingers. "He might have been running an errand for his mum, or picking up after any stray party-goers who had decided to make use of the millions of rooms in his house, or doing some morning swim practice in that giant indoor pool of his that I've read about in _Witch Weekly_." She tossed her hands into the air. "Merlin, Hermione, he could have been doing a dozen different things! Did you even think to look for him before ducking out?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, a black well of despair opening up in her belly. What if Ginny was right and he'd just been busy doing something else, leaving her to her much-needed rest? What if he'd come back to find her gone... and taken _her_ as the runner?

"I've messed up, I think."

"Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk. Just Floo call him. Or, do you want to borrow Pig to send him a letter?"

"I thought Pigwidgeon died last year?" She seemed to recall Ron saying something about that.

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, Pig-2 is his son. Cute, little bugger. Mum's over the moon about him – spoils him rotten. He's just old enough now to carry letters."

She was sorry to hear about Pig's death, as she'd rather liked the little fellow. He'd been Ron's faithful little familiar for the second half of their school years, and had stayed by the Weasleys during the war, despite everything. Still, in this case, an owl delivery might be impractical. Time was of the essence. "I think I'll Floo-call Draco," Hermione decided. "It'll be faster and less chance of misunderstandings."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, catching it on a tangle. What a mess she'd made of things!

"Cheer up, for crying out loud!" her best friend encouraged, not really understanding the seriousness of the situation. "So, you had a one-off with Malfoy. Big deal. Lots of women have! You don't have to work as closely with him now in your new job, so you won't have to really see him too often. Just dodge him for a few weeks and it'll blow over. He'll move on to the next witch on his list and you'll be free of him."

_Somehow, this pep talk wasn't helping, _Hermione wryly thought.

"You need to lighten up a little, 'Mione," Ginny advocated with a hearty slap to Hermione's knee. "Don't take every sexual experience as a deeper emotional commitment. Sometimes, sex is just sex. Enjoy it for what it was, live the memories when you feel the need, but don't do it again. It's not like you're in _love with _him!"

But that was the problem: she thought it very likely that she _was_ falling in that specific direction.

It wasn't like she could tell Ginny that, however. Frankly, Hermione was too embarrassed to talk about the depth of her feelings for Malfoy, much less admit her sexual proclivities to Ginny. Trying to explain her desire to submit in the bedroom to not just any man, but specifically to Draco (especially given their history), just might shock her best friend into a fit of seizures. It certainly left Hermione's head spinning just thinking about it!

So, instead, she simply nodded a bit morosely to Ginny's rallying, and considered silently in her head what she would say to him when she put in that Floo-call once her best friend left.

Gin, however, wasn't completely unobservant. She recognised Hermione's non-committal gestures for what they were. Her brown eyes, so similar to her mother's, widened as she began to understand that her assumptions about the interest Hermione had for Draco went deeper than she'd assumed, and then her expression softened. "Of course, I feel I should point something out, as your best friend," she nonchalantly stated.

Hermione gave her an inquisitive glance.

"You forget I was there at Twilfitt and Tatting's. The tension between you two was electric. Then there were the looks he kept giving you at __Divine Cuisine__... and after you left that night, he came back inside and chewed me a new arse in defence of you. A man doesn't do that unless there's something deeper to his feelings for a woman."

Malfoy had barked at Ginny – for her? Despite saying, reluctantly, he wouldn't?

"And Harry told me years ago that Malfoy had cited you as one of his principle reasons for joining M.L.E."

Hermione owlishly blinked. "He did?" This was news!

Ginny nodded. "Your defence of him at his post-war trial had, apparently, made him realise how inept the prosecution was, since he claimed your testimony had been so full of shit, it shouldn't have passed muster. Only your fame had pushed it through, he'd claimed."

_What?!_

"That was my big influence on his career choice," she asked, incredulous, "the fact that I sucked as a witness?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Yeah, apparently, Malfoy felt the Ministry needed better prosecutors than the one at his trial in the future if they intended on putting away as many Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathisers as possible over the years. And, if you'll recall, he was really eager to see those bastards in prison after everything was said and done. So, you see," Ginny said, smiling proudly at her, "you unintentionally swayed a very bad boy into become an excellent prosecutor for the Ministry. Huzzah for you!"

Somehow, that didn't inspire Hermione to write home.

_"You've influenced him for most of his life in ways you can't possibly imagine, Hermione…. You really never saw it, did you?" _

No, she supposed she hadn't. Not until last night, first when Theo had pointed it out to her, and then when she'd seen and felt Draco's feelings for her in concert.

But he hadn't admitted anything aloud. He had _hinted _at a long-term, non-casual relationship, but he hadn't come right out and asked her to be his aside from, "want to give it a whirl, Granger?" And then he'd left her that jewellery, like he had all the other women he'd dated. That had felt like a slap in the face, and had made her doubt everything he'd said and done... and _that's_ what had sent her running with her tail tucked.

Maybe she'd jumped to conclusions, though. Maybe there was a perfectly rational reason for attempting to bribe her with gold and precious gems.

"If I had to base my assumption on those occasions," Ginny continued thoughtfully, eyes gentle, "and taking into account what you _have _told me and everything I know about him over the last decade-plus, I'd have to say..."

She paused, giving Hermione a dramatic grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend's mischievous antics and voluntarily fell into Ginny's trap. "You'd have to say _what_?"

"Let me put it this way," Ginny explained. "No man on the planet would consider following a person into the greedy hands of the Ministry and all of its suffocating politics just to win that person's attention unless he was in love."

"Ron followed me into M.L.E.," Hermione pointed out.

"Technically, he followed both you _and_ Harry," Ginny countered.

There was a moment of silence as Hermione digested her friend's implication.

"You can't be serious!" she exploded, shocked to her core. "Ron's as straight as an arrow!"

Her bestie snorted. "He's as easily bent as willow by the right wind – which is really quite funny, since that's the wood his wand is made from."

"That's... No, absolutely... I can't believe..." she stammered. "I'd have known!"

Ginny just raised one red-gold eyebrow at her and grinned. "You'd be surprised what people hide when it comes to their sex life."

_No, really, I wouldn't,_ Hermione thought, because that's exactly what she was doing.

She and Ginny then got into a long debate about the possibility of Ron being truly bi-sexual versus merely being bi-curious versus the real possibility that he was a closeted gay man in complete denial. The rest of her thoughts flew by the wayside as a result, and the conversation went well into the night until the clock chimed eleven and Ginny yawned to signal they needed to cut the visit. Both of them had work in the morning, after all.

It wasn't until Hermione was in her bed and almost asleep that she remembered she hadn't Floo-called Draco to discuss her leaving earlier that morning. Of course, he hadn't made any effort to contact her, either, she realised.

***.*.*.*.***

_"Why are you crying, my lioness?" her thief whispered, caressing her cheek. He lay beside her, over her, stroking her face with a lover's touch. "What's hurt you this time?"_

_Hermione sniffed, feeling the course of hot tears on her cheeks. "I... I did something I'm not sure I should have," she admitted. _

_Ginny had been right – she'd run when she should have stayed and confronted Draco. What a fool she'd been! Now she might have ruined everything between them!_

_'The Serpent' went very still. Even his breath seemed to stop. _

_"Do... you regret it?" he asked. There was an odd tremor of pain in his voice._

_"Yes," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling. "I made a mistake."_

A big one at that! She should have waited for Draco to return so they could talk about what had happened, where he'd been, and what the necklace had meant. She'd behaved like a child running off as she had.

_Her thief remained silent for a long time, and only the sounds of their out-of-sync breathing broke the quiet night. _

_When he finally rolled off her and stood beside her bed, she noted he kept his back to her. His fists were clenched at his side and strangely, he seemed to practically vibrate with an unexpected anger. "So be it," he murmured, and walked out her bedroom door without a backward glance._

***.*.*.*.***

Three more days had passed, and Draco hadn't tried to contact her.

It was now Wednesday, and Hermione was about to bash her head into the wall in frustration. She couldn't decide if Draco was 'The Serpent' or not. There were times she was absolutely certain he was, like after that weird dream on Sunday night (which she was now convinced was some sort of modified Patented Daydream Charm that he'd cast on her right as she'd been falling asleep, as that was the only explanation that would allow him to climb into bed with her, touch her and talk to her, all the while keeping her mind caught somewhere between waking and sleep, in that grey zone where one was never sure if they were dreaming or not, unable to awaken until he lifted the enchantment). Why would her thief be so upset at her unless it was Draco misconstruing her words? His anger made no sense otherwise.

But then today's news from Anthony had totally tossed her suspicions up into the air again: they'd found a new, much more likely suspect for 'The Serpent' – some bloke named Harper, who had tipped off one of Tony's street contacts by trying to order half a dozen custom-made miniature serpent figurines. Harper apparently fit some of the profile for their perp that they'd established: he was an ambitious and slippery little pure-blood squid who'd escaped post-war incarceration for his part as a Snatcher on a legal technicality, and he did tend to wear all black clothing, apparently. Further, he was just that morning seen by one of Tony's tails acting furtive and nervous leaving Knockturn Alley, a brown-wrapped parcel under his arm. Tony had deemed the man suspicious and was having him constantly followed.

Was this man the same 'Harper' as the boy in Ginny's class back at Hogwarts? Hermione remembered that Harper being sorted Slytherin, and recalled how he used to follow Draco around like a puppy on the Quidditch pitch, being the reserve Seeker for his team back then – and how Malfoy had hardly given the guy the time of day. Was it possible that Harper was involved in some weird hero worship of Draco and was now committing crimes to get his attention? Everyone knew Draco was the lead prosecutor for M.L.E. and that a case like 'The Serpent's' would fall into his lap eventually. It also was no secret that he'd changed his tune regarding blood purity issues post-war, advocating for an end to prejudice based on magical lineage. Maybe Harper was obsessed with Draco (like the rest of the bloody world, it seemed), and this whole thieving game was a way of getting his old Quidditch captain's attention at long last. In a twisted kind of way, stealing from pure-bloods and returning the items to their Muggle-born owners could be Harper's way of finally achieving Draco's acknowledgement and approval.

It could be true. Stranger motives had been known to inspire such unstable people.

But if that were the case, why would Harper target _her_? Could he know that she and Draco had been dancing around each other for months now, and he thought he'd insert himself in the middle of that? Why? For what reason?

Her head spun with the possibilities, all of which had a nefarious slant to them, until her doubts tripled on every front.

The fact that Draco hadn't bothered to seek her out since their one night of mutual pleasure was only making the situation worse. Her mind couldn't let go of the fact that she'd clearly been dismissed by him, and that now she wasn't sure she could trust a thing he'd ever said or done.

The lack of closure, at least, was driving her mad. She'd done as Ginny had suggested, taking the situation by the brass ones starting Monday morning, but her efforts thus far had been in vain. She'd Floo-called, only to have no one answer at his home. She'd sent an owl, but it had returned empty-handed with no reply. Twice she'd gone over to his office, and both times, he'd been out. She'd left notes with his smug assistant, asking him to contact her to no avail. She'd looked for him in the cafeteria, at the lifts, in the main lobby, and in the hallways, but his shock of white-blond hair was nowhere to be seen as far as she could tell. She knew he was at work, because Harry had mentioned seeing him just yesterday, but he hadn't come to her office. Since she was no longer involved in Anthony's investigation and had moved offices, she couldn't even use the excuse of discussing the case to force a confrontation. He had no valid reason to seek her out, either, as there were no cases scheduled before the Wizengamot this week.

It was a stalemate situation. Apparently, he was taking advantage of their lack of work collaboration to keep out of her way, but for what reason, she wasn't sure. Was it anger at her leaving on Sunday morning – a stung pride that needed time to soothe, or was he kicking her to the kerb, having had his fill? She just didn't know, and the not knowing was driving her spare.

Growling, she reminded herself of what Ginny had pointed out: she was a Gryffindor and she had wronged someone, and it was her responsibility to at least apologise for that, even if her heart was to be broken in the doing.

And there was no better time than the present to try, try again.

Decisively, she smoothed down her favourite pencil skirt, unbuttoned the top button of her dress blouse (just in case she needed to act a little Slytherin after all), and marched out her office, heading for Draco's. Head held high, Hermione nonetheless felt like she was walking to her execution. Her throat tightened and her heart pounded under her ribs.

The gold placket with his name—**_Draco L. Malfoy, Lead Prosecutor_****—** gleamed above his office's outer door. She opened it, noting immediately that his inner office door was closed and his assistant was once again missing from her seat...

...and there were those familiar squeaking noises of wooden furniture being put through its paces coming from Draco's inner office, followed by a feminine cry of pleasure that was muffled.

_Oh, God, no._

She stood there for half a minute, praying she was mishearing, but when Zeller cried out, "yes, right there!" Hermione felt the room begin to spin. Burning tears welled up in her eyes.

Just like with the necklace, the situation was as she'd feared it to be. Draco had gotten what he'd wanted from her, had tried to buy her off when it was done, and had now moved on. She was nothing to him, and everything he'd said to her...

The moaning grew louder, as did the sound of lips smacking in heated kisses.

Damn all Slytherins and their honeyed, lying tongues!

She spun on her heel and ran out, keeping her head down and biting her tongue to keep from crying in public. Thankfully, there was no one else in the hallway just then, so she made it back to her office without a scene.

Once there, though, she slumped. Her knees shook, finally giving out as she reached one of the guest chairs before her desk. Slipping out of her heels, she crawled into the chair, hunched up into a ball, and dropped her head into the cradle of her arms, finally giving in to her despair.

Shattered, that's how she felt. Inside and out, she was broken glass.

***.*.*.*.***

The dark-haired man stood, unobserved in the open doorway, watching Hermione Granger dash off towards her office.

Those had definitely been tears in the witch's eyes.

"Maybe you should reconsider your resolve to stay away from Hermione. She was just at your door, looking for you," he called over his shoulder to the blond sulking in the office lounge, nursing a third Firewhisky despite the earliness of the day. "Clearly, she had something important to say – like maybe that apology you've been waiting for her to make in person."

Draco's drink arrested half-way to his mouth, and he looked up with surprise.

"I think she got the wrong idea about you and your nympho secretary, though. She was attempting valiantly not to cry as she ran off back towards her office."

The glass slammed down and the swearing commenced.

"This one's all on you," he told his blond friend, holding his hands up. "You're the one with the rake's reputation and the stubborn streak a mile wide." He glanced back down the corridor towards Hermione's office. "Unfortunately, your little apology and reconciliation will have to wait... and you know why."

"Fuck," Draco swore behind clenched teeth. "Bad fucking timing again!"

"Yeah," the dark-haired wizard agreed, leaning against the door jam, feeling a bit melancholy. "That's everyone's problem around here, it seems."

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione couldn't remember the rest of that day, only that the sounds outside in the corridor swelled around the quitting buzzer, and then diminished as the hours ticked past dinner. She hadn't moved from her chair, oddly numb, her tears fully spent.

And then Harry was suddenly there, and his gentle hand in hers helped her to her feet and then to guide her towards the Floo. At her flat, he made her a hot cup of tea, tried to get her to eat some left-over macaroni and cheese he'd found in her fridge, and stayed with her until she felt marginally more herself.

Two hours later, as she walked him to the door and thanked him for his kindness, he left her with a sad expression, but a wish for her to have sweet dreams.

***.*.*.*.***

_Soft fingers trailed through her hair, careful to avoid tugging through her knots. Hermione hummed at how nice his touch felt. "There you are."_

_"Yes, here I am... again." He sounded resigned, tired. "But I'm not sure I can keep playing this game with you. You need to decide."_

_"Decide what?"_

_He sighed. "Why did you leave?" _

_"Where have you been?" she countered, turning over onto her back. _

_His hand moved away and he sighed. The mattress shifted as he stood up and moved away from it. "Where I've always been, my lovely – waiting for you."_

_"'My... lovely'?" she asked, confused. Her befuddled, tired mind slowly made the connection and she gasped as she understood the significance of the endearment he'd used. "The ribbon!"_

***.*.*.*.***

Hermione woke up, her hands extended and reaching for him, but 'The Serpent' was already gone. The window in her bedroom was open, though, where it had been closed before.


End file.
